JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Oneshots
by BlueBow
Summary: A collection of oneshots concerning the characters of my JoJo fanfiction.
1. Moon on the Lake

Moon on the Lake

* * *

Silence.

No sound.

Nothing but the loneliness of the dead of night to accompany the padding of feet on firm carpet.

Then, a pair of notes rang out gently, emphasized in the once empty void of soundlessness.

Within one second's time, another duo followed, higher than the beginning.

As tenderly as the first tones had sounded, a serene melody began to echo through the quiet building. Despite how lonely the tune sounded, with its calm nature and lack of accompaniment, it carried a modest grace as it floated through the hotel lounge and whispered past the ears of any who cared to listen.

Suki slipped into the room without a sound, peeking around the edge of the piano. A smile crossed her lips as she saw exactly who she had expected to find pressing the keys with a delicacy that was unlike him. Fleeting memories tugged at the girl's mind. She felt a small warmth of nostalgia blossom within her as she watched the man she had grown so close to wrapped in the elegant piece his fingers wove, his eyes closed in deep concentration.

 _I don't wanna disturb him,_ the girl thought, as she felt her body carried to the far wall of the abandoned lounge by the sensitive tempo. Involuntarily, her arms began to sway from her body, as she brought her hands over her head and let her eyes slipped closed. Another memory swam into her consciousness, as she tiptoed tepidly, her gestures somewhat uncertain. _The performance…went something like this, right…?_

And so, the girl began to dance, slowly retracing the steps of a nostalgic performance in her mind. Even with the constraining nature of her choice of footwear, she still made quite an effort to balance herself on her toes just like the performer in her mind. As she let the music seep into her pores she stepped and spun in a dance only she remembered, stopping and swaying briefly if she didn't quite recall a specific gesture before picking her steps up once more.

Jotaro had not been immune to the presence of one other person being added to the lonely lounge, as he opened his eyes at the sensation of the smallest of breezes from someone passing. As he occupied his hands with continuing the tune, the delinquent allowed his gaze to drift to the dancing girl moving at a diagonal from the instrument. He was unsure what category her form of movement would fall into, until he observed her pull her leg in as she spun, then stand tall on one toe (or rather, give her best attempt to) and stretch her leg out behind her. It was only as the girl performing ballet to the song he played turned to face him did Jotaro realize that he had not recognized who was dancing up to that point.

Suki chose that moment to open her eyes to gauge her surroundings, ensuring she would not bump into anything. Her eyes flicked up as she noticed a cool gaze focused on her. Flushing red, she slumped into a more casual posture as her lips pulled into a pout.

"Warn me, if you're going to watch me dance…" She muttered, twiddling her fingers.

"You get stage fright?" The man questioned, his hands falling from the keys.

"I mean…" Suki sighed, scratching her cheek, "It's something I've gotta do for you guys, but, when we _aren't_ fighting, then there's no reason to watch. It's just me moving around without any tact…"

"What was that just now, then?"

Suki gaped slightly, before casting her eyes away with a sheepish grin.

"I heard you playing Clair de Lune. My sister danced to that song, and…I felt like trying to recreate her performance."

…

"You were like a different person."

Suki looked up at this comment, meeting Jotaro's eyes. An unspoken question rested in his blue irises. The girl did not pride herself on being a master interpreter, but she hoped her answer would suffice. She began to explain, as she closed the distance between herself and her partner.

"Whenever my sister would dance…it was like time had stopped. She was so graceful and mature…And it didn't stop at dancing. Every move she made, every step she took had this elegance to it. It's like she always had this song playing in her head that only she could hear and move to.

"I feel like the way people interact with music says a lot about them. I don't always conduct myself maturely, while my sister always seemed to have her foot in the adult world, even when she was young… I'd be lying if I said I didn't envy her a bit."

The girl leaned delicately against the instrument, staring into her reflection in the polished ebony surface. A small smile turned up the corners of her mouth as she continued.

"You don't look out of place playing a soft song by Debussy, just like you don't look out of place playing a tune of strength like Stand Proud. Music…can say a lot of things words can't."

…

Suki laughed softly.

"That must've sounded unbelievably corny," She admitted with a shake of her head.

Jotaro met her eyes for a moment, before casting his gaze to the side and scooting over on the bench. His large frame left little room available on the seat; however, just enough room was left for someone of Suki's stature, if she didn't mind the close quarters. The girl accepted the silent invitation with a gentle smile, as she quietly sat down beside him, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap.

Jotaro resumed playing the song.

As Suki allowed herself to wash away with the tune, finding comfort in the presence and warmth of the man right beside her, she noticed the song had a subtle undertone that she hadn't heard before. The melody was the same, without a doubt; however, she almost didn't notice that, at this moment in time, under Jotaro's dexterous fingers…

"…It sounds tense…" Suki murmured.

The man's hands stilled on an unfinished half note, allowing it to ring out into the silence. The girl met his gaze with a concerned expression.

"You're letting your stress get to you again."

…

"I want to help you again, if I can. Is there anything I can do?"

Jotaro shifted his gaze back to his hands, moving them to rest on his knees.

A long pause ensued.

Finally, he spoke.

"What do you see, when you hear that song?"

… _He wants me to keep talking?_ Suki wondered, before pondering the question he had just posed.

"Well, if you were asking my sister, she'd say she sees the moon's reflection on the water. Granted, the song _is_ called "Clair de Lune," so I get where she's coming from," The girl mused, as she folded her arms, her smile growing wistful, "For me, though…I see a waltz in the stars. It's a pair of shadows dancing in the night sky. I feel…at peace, watching them."

Suki grinned sheepishly and scratched her cheek.

"You gave me a corny question, so I gave you a corny answer. It's beyond that, but it's true."

"You act like I should be surprised."

"Alright, then let's hear what you see, then!" Suki shot back with a tiny pout.

The delinquent pulled the brim of his hat down as he closed his eyes and sighed.

"Come on, fair's fair!" The girl goaded, smirking.

"…A ballroom."

 _A ballroom?_ Suki parroted inwardly.

"People are dancing together," He continued, "That's about it."

"Are you dancing with them?" Suki asked with a tilt of her head.

"Why would I be dancing with them?"

"I dunno, why would I dance with those star people?"

"You mean you wouldn't want to?"

"If I'm going to dance in front of other people, I'd rather…do it with another person…" Suki trailed off. With a shake of her head to dismiss the thought, she spoke with renewed confidence, "I never did get to ask you: what made you want to play the piano?"

The man's expression grew contemplative, as he absentmindedly brushed his thumb along the white keys, seemingly admiring the instrument.

"My dad's a jazz musician. He didn't teach me much, but what he did teach me made me want to learn more."

"Is he…around anymore?"

"He left on tour a while back. We haven't seen him since. He calls, but that's about it."

Jotaro's voice contained no hint of wistfulness, or desire to reconnect. All it held was acceptance that this was just how things were.

Suki's face fell in response.

"You don't need to be sad about it."

"I know," Suki pursed her lips, "I know, but…Don't you ever miss him?"

Jotaro was silent for a few long moments, before speaking up.

"I won't say no, but my mom and I get along well enough, even though he isn't there."

"Hm," The girl responded, folding her arms. Her brow furrowed as she closed her eyes.

 _It makes me wonder…Will Mama be okay, if I just bring my brother back? Whenever I've brought up bringing Dad and Aoi back, she's always been more concerned about my own safety…Even so, I know how lonely she is. How she's dealing with that is a mystery to me, now that I've seen what she never showed Kyuu or myself…What should I-_

"Don't hurt yourself."

The intensity of her expression was broken as she opened her eyes to see Jotaro staring back at her. A smile returned to her face.

"Heh, I'm being careful with my brain space, don't worry."

A blush rose to her cheeks as a previously buried fact became readily apparent to the girl once more.

"You know, I can really think more clearly when I'm around you. I feel…calmer, when you're around."

As she looked up at her partner, he seemed to pause for a moment, before he pulled his hat over his eyes, a dusty red tinting his cheeks.

"Give me a break."

Suki rolled her eyes playfully, before turning back to the instrument.

"Do you want to try playing again?" She asked with a tilt of her head.

The man closed his eyes and took a deep breath, appearing to stifle a yawn, before placing his hands on the keys once more. Suki raised her hand and placed it over Jotaro's. With a gentle intimacy to her movement, she lined up her fingers over his. Her hands were much smaller, certainly unable to reach his fingertips if their palms were aligned; however, she was able to sense the relaxation of the muscles in his hand from the simple touch, even coupled with the coarseness of his skin.

"Hah, so being around me _does_ make you relax!" Suki grinned, pleased with her small victory.

Jotaro was silent.

Surprising the girl, he turned his hand over and wove his fingers between hers, resting their intertwined hands on the keys despite the dull, quiet note that sounded. Suki studied his gaze out of the corner of her eye. With the pieces in place, she tightened her grip in his hand, as she sidled closer and rested her head on his shoulder.

The two sat silently in the quiet lounge for a longer period of time than they had intended, before returning to their room and obtaining what little sleep they could.

* * *

Despite the bombastic orchestrations that had filled the opulent hall beforehand, a much more serene tune was not found to be unwelcome. As only the notes from monochrome keys danced in the spacious ballroom, couples found themselves slowing their pace to match the new, gentler tempo.

A man in a dark suit leaned inconspicuously against the wall near the back of the room, quietly observing the pairs that swayed to the song, folding his arms. He allowed his eyelids to slip closed, giving his eyes a much-needed break from the flashy decorations that threatened to overwhelm any who stared too long.

"Are you waiting on someone?"

The man opened his eyes and looked to his side. He laid eyes on a smaller woman, wearing a lacy periwinkle gown and a matching ribbon in her hair. Her smile was gentle and quiet, matching the tone of the song.

The man merely shook his head and turned his gaze back to the dancing couples.

"Do you…Do you mind if I stand here with you?"

The man turned and looked at the woman with a raised eyebrow. Her expression was sheepish, but sincere. She seemed to have no ulterior motive.

After a moment, he shrugged and let his gaze drift back to the dance floor. With a small relieved sigh, the woman leaned against the wall, separated from the man by about a yard.

The two watched the couples silently, drifting into the river of the music that emanated from the piano and touched every pair of ears in the room.

Chancing a glance at the woman beside him, the man saw a hint of wistfulness in her reflective brown eyes, as she continued her unbroken stare towards the middle of the ballroom.

"You aren't going to dance?" The man asked.

The woman laughed softly.

"If I'm going to dance in front of other people, I'd rather…do it with another person…"

She shook her head.

"My time here is limited, but I'm perfectly fine with watching the others have fun. That's enough for me."

The man turned his gaze back to the couples after hearing her response tinged with a near imperceptible hint of melancholy.

…

…

…

"…One dance."

"Hm?" The woman turned towards the man at his glib statement.

"You said you didn't have much time, right?"

The woman nodded slowly, as she watched the man take a few steps from the wall. He took a deep breath and turned towards her.

The man offered a hand to the woman.

"Then, I'll dance with you. Just once."

The woman's eyes darted between the man's hand and his face, as though disbelieving of his offer.

Then, she smiled.

She extended a silent message of gratitude as she met his gaze, gently placing her hand in his.

The two approached the dance floor, hand in hand.

The dream ended there.

But the warmth of an accepting hand and the sugary sweetness of a mutual wish for companionship remained in his memory.

-END-

-TO BE CONTINUED-

* * *

 **Happy Valentine's Day, all!**

 **I hope the year has been treating all of you well, and I hope you enjoyed the beginning of this series of oneshots! For this, I'm hoping to have an upload schedule of one chapter every month or two. I also would like to know what oneshot you want to see next! I've posted a link on my tumblr page (just eliminate the spaces), where you can decide between one of the choices I've come up with, or you can ask for a custom subject with the third option. The survey will be open until the last day of March. Let me know what you think, and I'll see you in the next chapter!**

 **-BlueBow**

 **Link to tumblr page:**

bluebow501 . tumblr . com


	2. I Look to You - A Whit Oneshot

**WARNING: This story contains instances of graphic violence, gore, coarse language, and sexual content. A warning will exist at the beginning of a chapter containing anything explicit, and will be sectioned off by another warning right beforehand, and another line right where the explicit scene ends. You have been warned.**

 **WARNING**

 **Well, would you look at that, I finally posted something in...almost a year now? Guess I was wrong about the whole "posting once every one or two months" thing. Sorry about that, guys. That one survey I put out ages ago on whether I should post a oneshot concerning Whit or the Stardust Crusaders probably seems obsolete by this point, especially considering how I ended up formatting the latter. Basically, the survey received a tie in votes before closing, and I intend to at least deliver on that front, so I will be posting this as well as the SC oneshot that actually ended up becoming a chapter of the second season (don't ask me how that happened, it's a long story XD). With all of that said, I hope you enjoy this glimpse into Whit's, or should I say "Brando's", past before becoming the man he is at the time of the story.**

* * *

"L-Lord Dio!"

Dio looked up from his tome at the same moment a woman with long black hair burst into the room. Her clothes were slightly disheveled, and her expression was panicked, tears coursing down her cheeks as she cowered at the door. The man made a mental note of his page and gently shut the book before standing and making his way to the traumatized lady.

"Whatever is the matter, my dear?" He asked, allowing her to approach with open arms.

"Oh, Lord Dio, it was _terrible_!" The woman cried, accepting the man's gesture by rushing forward and burying her face in his chest. Dio's arms fell around the female in a soft embrace, stroking along her back with one hand as she continued to sob, "I-I went to the room you told me to meet you in, and there was _someone else_ there! He…said he was you…but, he…well, he does look somewhat like you, but I would never mistake him for you! He looked like some kind of monster!"

Dio's eyebrows rose, as he placed his hands on the woman's shoulders and brought her to arm's length. She looked up at him with wide eyes as he closed his eyes for a moment in contemplation.

"I must apologize. I had completely forgotten about our arrangements," The vampire spoke softly, opening his eyes and placing a hand on the lady's cheek, "You were so frightened, and I was none the wiser."

The woman shook her head, the last of her tears falling as she smiled and placed her own hand over Dio's. "Lord Dio, there's no need for _you_ to apologize. If anything, I should be the one asking for forgiveness. Whatever that monster was must have caught wind of our meeting and decided to take advantage of the fact that I wanted to prepare for it early. I caused more trouble for you. I should…be punished for that."

"…The only one receiving punishment will be that monster who startled you," A corner of Dio's mouth tilted up in a wry smirk as he stroked the woman's cheekbone with his thumb, his nail lightly skating along the thin skin as she closed her eyes. He then gave instructions to her, "I will tend to this monster, but I will need you to remain here while I do so. Do you think you can do that?"

The lady opened her eyes, completely glazed over. "As you wish, Lord Dio."

The man pressed his lips to hers before letting go and strolling out of the room without a sound.

As he made his way to the door at the end of the dusty hallway, he breathed a sigh.

 _It appears my double still has a ways to go…_ He thought, his hand landing on the doorknob. With no effort, he pushed the door open to reveal a slightly cleaner bedroom, undecorated as it may have been, save for the several bookcases lining the walls and a single dresser in the corner of the room. In the center sat a lavish canopy bed.

On that bed sat a pale man with long, shaggy, blonde hair. The countless stitches etched into his body could be seen even in the muddy lighting of the room. He looked up upon hearing the door open, his sharp green eyes glinting in shame in the darkness. "Lord Dio, I-"

Dio clicked his tongue as he padded his way over to green-eyed man. The man on the bed lowered his head, acquiescing to whatever punishment he may be due to receive. "Now, now, Brando…" Dio began, walking up to the seated man. As he stopped in front of him, Dio brought a finger under Brando's chin and lifted it, so he would have no escape from eye contact, "What was the first thing I told you in regard to winning over a woman?"

Green irises darted from one corner to another, as Brando recalled his original's advice. "Allow…the woman to approach me?"

The memory of the woman's disheveled appearance blinked into Dio's mind before he dismissed it to focus on the man in front of him. "Yes, that is _one_ of the first things I told you, and it is something you should've taken into account when conversing with our most recent guest." Dio felt gravity pull on Brando's head as he nearly let it hang low once more; however, his one finger was more than enough to bear that weight. With his other hand, the vampire began to trace the double's stitches with a feather-light touch. He did not break eye contact, as he felt along the grooves and bumps as though it were his own skin. "Don't you remember these, Brando?"

"M-My sincerest apologies…My sincerest apologies, Lord Dio. I realize such behavior is beyond acceptance, but the fact that not all of those I would converse with would understand fully why I appear this way escapes me on occasion. In that regard, I must humbly and futilely request that you forgive my ignorance."

 _Even after all of this time, he still holds onto that verbal tic of his?_ Dio mused, a smile playing on his lips, _and yet, I can't bring myself to correct his behavior. Something about the manner in which he dances around the subject verbally draws people in…It's mesmerizing, in its own oddity._

"There is no cause for alarm. This was only your first attempt, after all," The red-eyed man explained, as he moved to the dresser and began rummaging through its contents. Finding the bottle of concealer he had stowed in one of the drawers for Brando's use, he shut the drawer without fanfare and walked back over to the seated man. Brando looked up and reached for the bottle. As he did so, Dio pulled his hand back. "Stand up," He commanded.

Brando did so, tensing his arms at his sides as Dio uncapped the container and poured a small amount of the liquid into his hand. Using his open palm as a palette, he dipped two of his fingers into the concealer and approached the green-eyed man. Dio gently brought his wet fingers over Brando's shoulder, running along the scarred surface as though he were polishing a porcelain surface. Brando flinched minutely at the touch.

"Do your scars still cause you pain?" Dio drawled, tracing downward towards Brando's defined pectoral muscles as he spoke.

"They do not. The sensation merely startled me somewhat."

With a contemplative blink, Dio returned his full focus to camouflaging the blemishes on his copy's abdomen.

"…You _do_ understand why you must let your prey approach you first, do you not?" The vampire asked.

Brando appeared to think for a moment before responding. "Humans…are still animals. No matter what words I utter to them, they are able to and most certainly will flee at a moment's notice if their instincts perceive the situation as potentially harmful," Brando observed Dio nod slowly as he stepped around to his double's back. He continued without pause, "If I am to embark beyond the walls they construct, I must appeal to a primal desire for comfort. If successful, the idea of escape will not even occur to them."

"And beyond that…?"

"I must…retain the ability to persuade them without words that what we wish for is the best for all concerned," Brando answered.

"Very good, my dear Brando…" Dio praised, rubbing his hands together and running them up and down the smaller male's arms. A microscopic smile appeared on Brando's face. Dio spotted the shift in expression as he came back around to his copy's front. He smiled himself. "People feel more comforted if they see a smile. You should smile more often. Put their minds at ease."

Confused, Brando's lips fell as he tilted his head. "'Smile,' Lord Dio?"

"It's what you did not even a second ago," Dio explained, reaching out and cupping Brando's face in his hands. With his thumbs, he pushed the corners of the green-eyed man's mouth up, forcing him to smile. He held his thumbs in place for a moment before he retracted his hands. Brando's smile seemed to stay in place this time, as Dio continued, "You will be more likely to persuade people if you express yourself like so."

Brando nodded.

"Now then," The vampire began once more, "We need to conceal the scars on your lower half as well."

With a second nod, Brando quickly pushed his loose pants down his legs and stepped out of them. He then proceeded to fold them and place them on the bed.

 _At the very least, he picked up on cleanliness being appealing,_ Dio thought, as Brando turned back to him, oblivious to the cold air now making contact with his bare lower half. Once again, Brando reached for the bottle of concealer Dio had picked up, and, once again, Dio retrieved it before his double could wrap his fingers around it. "I will take care of it," Dio declared.

"You…should not need to perform such a menial task for me…" Brando weakly replied.

Dio merely shook his head. "But, you _are_ me. Completing such a task for you is the same as completing the task for myself," The red-eyed man reasoned, as he bent down and began to spread concealer on Brando's scarred left leg.

"I…I _am_ you…I am…defective, however…"

Dio paused momentarily, before continuing to rub the cover-up into the pale skin. "You are not a perfect copy. You are defective, as I explained when you first came to be. To think, only months ago did you emerge into this world, unable to even place your thoughts into words, or even speak with your own vocal chords… However, you are the closest we have come to creating a near-identical version of me. One who can wield power in a similar branch to mine. One who can embark out into the world when the sun is shining. One…who has the potential to lead as well as I can. Of course, perfection cannot be birthed into the same world twice, so we must make do with… _near_ that." Brando was awestruck, unable to speak. He closed his eyes in comfort, continuing to listen to Dio's words as cool hands traveled up and down each of his legs. "Even being imperfect…Such allure…It would certainly persuade many to remain with you instead of adhering to a promise made with me…" Dio mused, splaying a hand wide on his double's thigh.

"Lord Dio…" Brando spoke quietly. "People wouldn't…They wouldn't just give up a chance to be by your side like that…"

Dio quirked an eyebrow as he met Brando's gaze. Chuckling and raising himself slowly, he spoke. "That may be true…" Towering over the green-eyed man, Dio ran a hand through Brando's blond locks, settling his palm at the back of his copy's skull. "…But they would at least consider it."

With his other hand, Dio began to trace down from Brando's shoulder, slowly trailing a long fingernail from his collarbone to his chest, to his stomach. As his original's hand descended, Brando's expression grew bewildered. "L-Lord…Dio…?"

Dio's expression grew stoic as his finger lowered further still, slowing to a stop just short of Brando's pelvis. "I'm going to give you another lesson today."

* * *

 **WARNING - Skip to the next line below this warning if you are not comfortable reading sexually explicit content.**

* * *

Dio's fingers trailed inward, allowing a fingernail to skate along Brando's length. The smaller man inhaled a shaky breath, as his original wrapped his hand around the flaccid member.

"W-Wait, Lord Dio…!" Brando whimpered, his hands flying to Dio's shoulders at the feeling of friction the skin-on-skin contact was creating, "Why…are you doing this?! This…This wouldn't happen with another man…"

Dio smirked. "You never know, Brando…"

He shoved his copy onto the bed. Brando hit the sheets with a small yelp, attempting to prop himself up before coming face-to-face with Dio. The red-eyed man boxed Brando in with his arms and legs, preventing any hope of escape he could have. He wouldn't have dreamed of fleeing from something like this, but the overwhelming, controlling presence Dio had, as he loomed over Brando, caused a scarlet tint to dust the smaller man's cheeks in the darkness. Brando swallowed thickly.

"In any case," Dio continued, beginning to stroke Brando's manhood once more, "certainly, you _do_ need to understand how to keep a level head… in _any_ situation." The vampire propped himself on an elbow at his double's side, observing every slight facial contortion the green-eyed man experienced.

"That's…impossible…" Brando spoke between heavy pants, "It's impossible to…to keep a level head…if Lord Dio is the one doing these things to me…"

A primal glint lit up Dio's eyes as he listened to these words. He leaned in closer to the smaller man, his cold breath ghosting over Brando's ear, making the smaller man gasp. "Well, you'll just have to make it possible, won't you? Make it possible to stay level-headed even if _I_ am the one doing these things to you…" He lilted, pressing his thumb over Brando's tip to punctuate his words.

The green-eyed man's back arched as he loosed a whine. A sly grin crossed Dio's lips as he loosened his grip, rubbing against Brando's cock with the heel of his hand, letting his fingers occasionally drum along his length.

"…Nngh, mmph," Brando squeezed his eyes shut, clenching the bedsheets underneath him with white-knuckled fists, shoving out every impulse to move even slightly in the vampire's grasp. Preventing himself from thrusting upward into Dio's cool, smooth hand was pure torture, but failing his lord's faith in his ability to learn would cause even greater pain.

"Good, good, you appear to be adapting," The larger man hummed in approval, trailing his tongue along the shell of Brando's ear, causing the servant to draw in a shaky breath.

"L-Lord Dio…I…I can't…!" Brando warned, his entire body shaking as his climax quickly approached. He turned to his original, allowing Dio to see his green eyes clouded with lust, arousal softening otherwise sharp edges in his expression.

Almost in response, Dio began to speed up his pace, quickly and aggressively muttering words into Brando's ear. "You're mine, you understand? Every fiber of your skin, every drop of your blood, every cell making up your body…It's all mine, and no one else's. Tell me, Brando. Tell me who you belong to."

"Lord…Diooooooooooo," Brando groaned.

"Say you're mine, Brando."

"Y-Yours…" Brando appeared to lose all sense of composure as he began to thrust blindly upward into Dio's hand, "Yours, yours, yours…I'm all yours, Lord Dio…!" Brando's voice broke as he released into his lord's hand. Dio continued to stroke his double's member, milking out every drop out he could. The vampire pulled his hand back and drew his tongue along his soiled skin, relishing the taste and warmth that hit his taste buds. He then turned his eyes to the fatigued Brando. The green-eyed man lay quietly, trying to catch his breath with closed eyes and deep inhales and exhales. Dio's gaze grew predatory as he observed his copy.

* * *

 _I want him._ Dio moved to straddle Brando's body, overwhelming the smaller man in sheer size. _Mind. Body. Soul. It's all mine, and yet…I still want more._

Brando slowly opened his eyes and looked up at the red-eyed man, meeting his dominant gaze with submission in his own."Lord…Dio…?" He murmured.

 _I'm still very hungry._

The two were startled from the quiet of the room by a firm knock on the door.

Without a sound, Dio stood up and walked over to the entrance. Collecting himself with a breath, he gently opened the door.

On the other side stood a woman in her early thirties with her hands clasped behind her back. She was clothed in cotton trousers, desert boots, and a baby blue blouse; standard fare for any who wanted to tolerate the arid Egyptian climate. What drew the eye of any who looked, besides the jasmine brooch placed just over her heart, were her striking scarlet locks, pulled into a high ponytail that reached for the middle of her spine. This hairstyle was distracted from by a pair of black, heavy-looking goggles that hung over her eyes. She stared up at Dio, her goggles' crimson lenses finding little shine in the darkness.

"Is there a problem, Miss Aizumi?" Dio asked, folding his arms.

"I was just going to make another tunnel for your convenience, Lord Dio," She responded.

"Very good. Wait here." The red-eyed man ordered. Lyn nodded firmly as Dio shut the door and turned back to the bed. Brando had sat up during the conversation, as he watched his original with curious eyes. "Put on your clothes," The vampire commanded.

"Does Miss Aizumi wish to study those cave markings we happened upon once more?" Brando asked with a tilt of his head.

"No, I need you to accompany her for tunnel duty," Dio stated, his orange eyes flashing even in he darkness, "Get to it."

* * *

"He is my lord. My one and only original. I would be nothing without him." Brando recalled the events that had transpired just before Lyn had called upon him and swallowed a lump in his throat, a strange heat beginning to unsettle his stomach.

The woman gave a slow nod to his stock response without looking at him, keeping her eyes on the unsteady ground ahead. "So, the big man upstairs wants a tunnel to… _Gezira_ this time around?" The woman asked almost lethargically.

"…I am not certain that I am following your path. Who do you refer to?"

"Lord Dio," Lyn turned to Brando with a relaxed grin, "It's…a joke."

Brando tilted his head with a curious expression.

"See," Lyn started, "people use the phrase 'the man upstairs' to refer to a divine power…Even though Lord Dio doesn't have godhood, he is our higher-up…and his name means 'god' in Italian."

"Do you not observe him to be divine already?" The blond man asked.

"I don't remember saying anything like that…" The woman crossed her arms behind her head as she failed to stifle a yawn.

Brando had not failed to notice the stark contrast in the woman's ways of carrying herself around him and Lord Dio. Thankfully, Lord Dio had explained that people tend to act differently when in the presence of one person as compared to another. He had confessed that Brando was the only person who saw him "like this," after all. In a similar vein, Brando did not submit himself to other people like he did to Lord Dio. As such, seeing this disparity in Miss Aizumi's personalities caught his attention, but did not bother him. He did not question why her speech seemed to slow to a crawl or why a sleepy smile always seemed to rest on her features.

"Well…to answer the question you posed beforehand," Brando started, "yes, Lord Dio wishes that we tunnel to Gezira."

"…He _does_ realize that that is an _island_ suburb of Cairo, right?"

"Do you doubt his intelligence?"

"Someone's interrogative today…" The redhead commented with a smirk.

"As an imperfect replica of my lord, I must ensure trust permeates throughout the organization of followers he has amassed."

"Well, no need to worry, here," Lyn explained with a shrug, "I just…find it odd that he wants me to make a safe route there."

"He has as of late taken an interest in the sporting club that was founded there. I was curious as to why; however, he merely responded that it is for research purposes."

"Ah, well…that makes sense of everything, don't it?" Lyn muttered, a toothy smirk staying on her face.

"Indeed, I believe it does."

"…Rhetorical answers aside," The woman asked slowly, "I didn't question why Lord Dio made you tag along with me again…But, do you even know why you're following me?"

"To ensure the safety of these tunnels."

Lyn pursed her lips at this response, bringing her hand out in front of her and closing it into a fist, causing the once-dead-end in front of them to fall away revealing the continuation of the long, dark corridor.

"These tunnels can live for decades. Believe me, I made quite a few…back when I was a tyke. You know how kids are, playing in the dirt and trying to dig to China and all that…" Lyn looked to Brando to see a lack of recognition painting his features. She shook her head as she continued, "The point is, those tunnels are _still_ there. Durable, spacious, and _definitely_ won't fall through unless I deign to tear them down."

"Lord Dio has encountered many situations where taking things for granted caused his ultimate downfall. This is no exception, and he wishes for another set of trusted eyes to examine these halls with a fine-toothed comb."

"I…see," The redhead stated, scratching underneath her goggle strap absentmindedly.

"I know we haven't spoke much… so I don't have much clout to push on this question, but…" She paused, then sighed, "Never mind."

"What are you wishing to ask of me?"

Lyn folded her arms and turned slightly toward Brando, her heretofore-present sleepy smile falling away into a strangely serious expression. "Do you care about Lord Dio… at all?"

"I have already stated-"

"You said you 'would be nothing without him,' right?" Lyn tugged on the strap of her goggles, "That don't matter… when it comes to whether you gave a shit about him or not. You know what I mean?"

At the man's lack of response, the redhead turned to him to see a completely befuddled expression. She sighed as she recalled what she had been told about him. "Right, right, you're still being drilled…educated, I mean, on figures of speech and the like…"

"Indeed, I am."

"Okay, well, I'm basically saying that, even though he created you and all… that doesn't mean you would legitimately care about him. A mom can give birth to a kid, and that little scamp might not love her one bit."

"Care…about…him…" Brando spoke the words slowly, as though tasting each one individually, sensing how it felt to speak them in response.

 _He wouldn't know…I'm not surprised,_ Lyn thought, _how best to explain this…?_ "Caring about someone…For me, it means…wanting someone to be safe, wanting them to be all happy…maybe wanting them to grow, too." _Yeah…_ She nodded to herself, _that's…how I feel about them._ "It probably means…different thoughts for different folks, though," Lyn continued, shrugging.

"I see. So, it may be a different caliber of feeling for myself, then?"

The woman nodded. The two continued walking through the tunnel in silence, save for the lonely echo of their footsteps off of the rocky surfaces. Listening to his footsteps perfectly synced with Lyn's, the only phenomenon that seemed to remind Brando that he was not walking through the darkness alone was the soft, sweet scent that seemed to follow Lyn wherever she walked.

Finally, Lyn spoke up. "You still have to learn about what's outside, right? What you can use… who you shouldn't give the time of day…stuff like that?"

"I had believed that phase of the education to be over…?" Brando asked."Lord Dio told me… he forgot to show you a couple of things. So, he wanted me to show you, while we were out." Reaching the light at the end of the tunnel, which seemed to lead into an old abandoned building, Lyn clambered out of the hole, followed by Brando neatly jumping out. The man met the redhead's gaze, as she flashed a toothy grin, her much more relaxed countenance returning. "Once we're done inspecting this building... I'll show you what you missed."

* * *

"Morning good, my sir." Lyn sauntered into the underpopulated café, the bell above the door ringing gently as she entered. She leaned against the bar counter, meeting the shopowner's stern gaze through her goggles as she grinned. "How's the coffee?" She asked.

"…Bitter, same as always," He muttered.

"Hmm…" Lyn tapped her cheek, "Well, I think my… compadre might like a cup…" As the shopowner shuffled into the kitchen, she turned slightly to address Brando, who had just stepped away from the door. "Want coffee?"

Brando merely tilted his head, a confused expression painting his features. In response, Lyn turned to him fully and tilted her own head, mirroring his confusion. After a moment, Brando spoke. "I had been under the impression that you had been enlightened to the fact that I only require sustenance from the meals and beverages provided for me at the mansion."

"Sure, sure, that might be all you _require_ …" Lyn lilted, as she sat down on one of the bar chairs, "But there's way more for us… in the world than just the bare necessities."

"…Elaborate, please."

"I'm much obliged to, but could you sit yourself down and make yourself… comfortable?" The redhead beckoned to the seat next to her, "You look like you're half a second… from dashing out the door."

Brando hesitated slightly before padding over to the chair Lyn had directed him to, finally taking note of his surroundings.

The sign outside had read _Café Sinatra_ , but such a name told the man nothing of what he would see inside. The comforting reds and maroons of the walls and floor seemed to create their own warmth that flushed into the air. The leather cushions of the booth seats and the mahogany of the tables, bar counter, and shelves looked like they had seen better days, marked with several scuffs and nicks here and there. A small hallway in the back, past the counter, seemed to lead to a staircase. Where that staircase led, one could only wonder. As Brando sat down in the chair with a creaking noise, he gazed up at the shelves on the wall across from the counter. Dozens upon dozens of jars sat neatly lined up along the wooden surface, illuminated dimly by the stained-glass lights that hung low, fogged by frequent use. The man squinted as he examined the labels.

"Mocha, Java, Blue Mountain, Colombian…" He read in a mumble.

"Whoa, hey, keep your voice down… Do you… _want_ Chief to yap our ears off?"

"Chief?"

"Yeah. He handles himself fine when you order stuff… but mention one thing about an interest in coffee, and he won't stop talking for three days," Lyn groaned as she let her head make contact with the ungiving surface of the counter, "But, if you want a weeklong… migraine and fast facts about coffee that won't leave your brain, be my guest."

Brando tilted his head. "But what exactly is so profound about coffee, if I may ask?"

Lyn's head shot up, a distinct red mark angrily glowing on her forehead, as her mouth gaped. She looked to the kitchen doorway to see Chief standing stock still, his dark eyes unreadable. Brando turned to follow the course of Lyn's gaze, his face still befuddled as he examined the older man in more detail.

The owner of the café, despite being as tall as Brando, did not strike the blond as incredibly imposing. His clean red flannel shirt and white shoes spoke of someone who rarely left the comfort of his own shop; and yet, his wrinkled visage and eyes as grey as thick storm clouds, minutely toned down in intensity by the horn-rimmed glasses he wore, displayed life experience beyond what either he or Lyn could have witnessed. Whether his messy short black locks and unkempt goatee expressed laziness in terms of upkeep of appearance or desire to be remembered by customers, Brando could not deduce.

Without a word, Chief sighed and placed the tray he had been holding onto the bar counter, allowing the two patrons to pick up the coffee he had brewed. He stood back and folded his arms. "Try that, _then_ try asking that question."

Brando and Lyn exchanged a look of concern, before the blond reached out to take the mug in both hands. The piping hot heat of the ceramic did not deter him from bringing the beverage to his lips and sipping. At least, he would have been undeterred, had Lyn not placed a gentle hand on his wrist. Brando's eyes darted to the woman, curious as to her intent, before he understood when he next inhaled. A subtle, sour aroma wafted into his nose, tickling his nostrils with a sensation that the atmosphere of the café lulled him into inviting in. Lyn allowed her hand to drift away as Brando finally brought the liquid to his now-impatient mouth.

Despite the scent, the flavors that hit Brando's tongue were much sweeter than he had predicted. Two different flavors served to weave into the initial bitterness of the coffee, creating a powerful symphony on his taste buds that reached a finale of a bright aftertaste that made him feel wide awake.

As the man stared down into his cup with wide eyes, Chief leaned over and muttered in Lyn's ear. "Has he _never_ drunk coffee before…?"

"He's, uh…sheltered, I want to say…" Lyn whispered in response.

"This…This is…" Brando started. After a moment, he stood up straight from his seat, striding swiftly to the door, "I must inform Lord Dio of this discovery!"

Out of the corner of her eye, Lyn saw Chief's eyes widen, but she did not acknowledge this display of surprise as she called out to her partner. "Brando, wait! He already knows!"

The man stopped sharply at the sudden sobriety of Lyn's tone. "He…already…?"

"Yeah, he already knows about food and drink… that you don't necessarily need. He's drunk wine around you before… why didn't you know?"

"Lord Dio…told me that people like us may need a glass of wine from time to time."

Lyn shook her head. "We don't need wine… to keep living, but it's there if we want it. Coffee's the same way."

Brando's eyes fell to the floor, his expression growing contemplative. His eyes lit up as he recalled a bit of info, as he met Lyn's goggles once more. "Did you not explain before that Lord Dio had been remiss in showing me a few aspects of the world around me? He _had_ meant to tell me but had just forgotten!"

Lyn bit her lip. "That was…a lie."

"…Lie?"

The woman exchanged a quick glance with Chief. The older man nodded and backed out into the kitchen, leaving Brando and Lyn alone.

"I think there's…a lot of things…A lot of things he hasn't told you about. Things he never planned on telling you… about this world and the people in it." She wrapped her arms around her body, despite the warmth of the room and air hanging around them. No remnants of her previous grin remained on her face. "I can't…imagine why he _wouldn't_ tell you…But, I felt bad that you didn't know about these things, so I thought…I thought I would show you." Lyn stepped forward, closing the distance between herself and Brando. "I wanted to show you… what he wants to hide from you."

Perhaps realizing the gravity of her words, Lyn swallowed thickly, as Brando gazed into her red lenses.

 _Something so harmless…Something so fascinating, in what it has made me feel…_ Brando thought, _Lord Dio…He_ must _have had good reason for keeping me uneducated about such a phenomenon, but…what_ is _that reason…?_ "Miss Aizumi…"Lyn took a deep breath, as if preparing for the worst, as Brando continued to speak."I have always, _always_ believed that Lord Dio has wished nothing but the best for his imperfect double. He has proven to be a kind, loving teacher to me. And yet, he is well aware of the fact that he and I…will never be one-to-one. I will never be able to achieve perfection, as he has. He has instructed me into following him. I do believe…I do believe that pursuing knowledge apart from his guidance will allow me to grow one step closer to his higher plane of existence. Even if I will never reach it…if I can near it…near it as much as within my capabilities, then I will certainly have served my purpose."Brando nodded, his lips turning up in a smile."Miss Aizumi. I would be most appreciative if you would reveal to me everything that he has kept secret from my conscious mind."

Lyn laughed nervously, as she thumbed her pendant. "Well, I can't guarantee…I'll be able to show you _everything_ …"

Brando folded his arms as his smile fell, his gaze falling once more. "Forgive me, I believe I may have overestimated your intelligence."

"Wh-!" Lyn was taken aback, as her mouth fell open. A moment passed, and suddenly, she began to laugh, as Brando could only look on with a lack of understanding. "Wow, that was so _rude_ , Brando… I didn't expect you to sass me," Lyn commented, her lackadaisical grin returning."R-Rude…?" Brando wondered, thinking through every avenue of the implications of his words. Finally reaching the conclusion of what he unintentionally said, he bowed deeply to the woman, "My deepest, sincerest apologies, Miss Aizumi. Please forgive my indiscretion."

"Nah, nah, it's fine…" Lyn soothed amidst her raspy giggles, "Such honesty…It's really refreshing."

"Lord Dio…said I should avoid rude behavior…"

"You should definitely avoid it around him…but, around me, 'rude' behavior is beyond welcome," The redhead explained, raising both hands in front of her and bending her index and middle fingers on both hands at the same time in an incomprehensible gesture. Seeing Brando's confused eyes, Lyn seemed to remember something, as she continued, "Ah, right, you… don't know what that gesture means, right? I'll explain it to you in a bit, but first…" The woman cast a glance to the coffee cups sitting on the counter behind her, steam still frothing from the liquid. "We should finish what we came here for… Lord knows, Chief wouldn't let us hear the end of it if we just moseyed out on him."

As if on cue, Chief walked right back in from the kitchen, a clean rag in his hand as he picked up a glass from behind the counter. "You're right, I wouldn't," He grumbled.

"You and your coffee… I swear, Chief…" Lyn muttered as she sat back down.

"Would you stop calling me that? You know that's not my name," The older man said.

"Well, what else am I supposed to call you… around other people?" Lyn made a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat as she rested her head in her hand, propping her elbow up on the counter, "You're so picky."

"I have a right to be picky: you haven't come up with one good nickname yet," Chief grumbled.

"I dunno," The woman started, smirking devilishly, "you didn't argue too much… at the beginning when I called you 'Daddy'."

"Call me that if you actually _want_ me to go out of business, kid," The older man said.

"You know I never meant it like _that_ , right?" Lyn asked. "…Get your mind out of the gutter."

"I'll get my mind out of the gutter when you start being more realistic," The shopowner shot back.

As the older man and young woman continued to banter, Brando drank again from the cup that had been placed in front of him, washing away with the bitter beverage any remaining doubts he had about keeping his first secret. _It is for the best._

* * *

As Brando opened the door to the café, his eyebrows raised as he spotted a small girl at the bar counter. Upon hearing the door open, the child looked up from her orange, frothy drink to stare wide-eyed at the new entrants. Quick as a wink, she leapt down from her perch in the chair and dashed into the kitchen.

"Whoa, there, what's gotten into you?" Brando heard Chief's voice dully from the other room. As he and Lyn stepped into the building, unwittingly carrying in a bit of a dusty dry breeze in with them, Chief walked out and greeted the two. "Yo."

Brando nodded to the owner, as Lyn trotted over to the older man. Upon closer inspection, Brando saw the small girl from earlier timidly hiding behind Chief's legs.

The child looked to be about twelve years of age, only barely reaching Chief's hips in height. Her long black hair cascaded down over her hunched shoulders, and her dark skin and freckles did nothing to hide the blush tinting her cheeks. She kept her brown eyes on the floor, determined not to gaze at the people in front of her.

"Hi-yo, Captain," Lyn waved. She then crouched down to speak to the kid eye-to-eye, greeting her as she ruffled her hair, "And hey there, little tyke."

The girl seemed to manage a small smile as she looked up at Lyn. "…'lo," Her voice was small.

Lyn's gaze softened, as she let her eyes drift to the pink-accented, baby-blue dress the girl wore. "You look cute today."

The child made a small distressed noise in the back of her throat as she chanced a look up at the person she definitely did not recognize. Captain chuckled. "What're you so shy for?" This seemed to be the limit for the kid, as she reeled her hand back and smacked Captain on the back of the leg. "Ow," Captain jolted slightly from the pain, looking back to the child with a sheepish grin, as he laughed slightly.

"Sorry, Brando," Lyn said, turning to her partner, "I guess… she's a little-"

Her partner was gone. But, then suddenly he was right where she was sure he had been standing. In his hand was the orange drink the girl had left on the table. With no hesitation, Brando crouched down to the girl's level and held the glass out to her. "This is your beverage, is it not?"

The girl paused, looking between Brando and the glass several times. Finally, she carefully reached out and took the drink from his hand, taking a long sip through the straw.

"Geez, for how much you badgered me to make that mango lassi for you, you sure didn't give leaving it behind a second thought," Captain laughed. The girl looked up at him and stuck her tongue out.

"Well, I'll take…two cups of the daily brew, Captain," Lyn stated, standing up and walking to seat herself at the counter.

"That nickname won't work either," The older man said, as he walked back into the kitchen. The small girl cast a few parting glances at Brando before finally disappearing into the other room after the shopowner.

The woman pouted with a huff at Captain's comment, as Brando moved to sit down beside her. "Man, the kid is usually so shy... That kind of turnaround is unprecedented," Lyn mused, stretching back against the chair.

"Lord Dio has been teaching me quite an amount in terms of cavorting with others in these past few days. Perhaps my charms are finally fully functioning at this moment in time," Brando replied, pulling a devilish smirk.

"Hah, good for you. Have fun outrunning the cops… when they find out you're putting the moves on a twelve-year old," Lyn joked.

"C-Correct. Such a feat may not have been as impressive as I initially believed…"

Lyn shook her head and turned fully to Brando. "Come on, you can't lose your fire that fast. You gotta be persistent… Didn't Lord Dio ever tell you that?"

"…Of course. What I meant to say was…" Brando cleared his throat. He then reached over and gently took Lyn's hand, as he expressed with a serene smile, "Perhaps yours is the heart that I will lay claim to next…" He pressed his lips to her fingers, locking his gaze with hers. He then allowed her hand to drift from his grasp as he tilted his head, as though nothing had happened. "In a manner similar to that one?"

Lyn released a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding, as she laughed quietly. "Man, you…you had me a second away from saying some such like, 'My clothes just fell off,'" Lyn confessed.

"Is…that a good thing…?" Brando probed.

"Well-"

The two heard Chief clear his throat loudly from the kitchen.

"…Long story short, yes," Lyn explained glibly.

* * *

"…Go!" At his own call, Dio threw a knife in the direction of the spot marked in red on the floor, as Brando warped to the spot at the same time. Catching the blade in his fingers, he pitched it back at the vampire. Dio caught it effortlessly and immediately hurled it at a spot ninety degrees from the original spot, marked in blue. Brando teleported once more and caught the weapon, throwing it back to the sender. Once more, Dio threw the knife, this time in a one-eighty from where he had just aimed. Brando teleported to catch it, however…

"Guh-agh!"

The knife landed in Brando's shoulder, buried to the hilt. The blond man fell to a knee to the cold stone floor, two feet in front of the point where he was meant to catch the weapon. Dio padded over to his copy, squatting next to him. "Distance and reflexes. Keep those in mind."

Brando panted, trying to slow his ragged breathing down. "Yes…Lord Dio."

Glancing from the blade to Brando's face and back again, Dio gave a small sigh. "You've worked hard today. I think we can say this practice was successful." Brando nodded, wincing as Dio yanked the knife out. His expression softened as his original placed a hand over his open wound. He sighed and closed his eyes. "This should only take a moment…" Dio said.

"…Lord Dio?" Brando spoke up quietly.

"Mm?" Dio's eyes drifted up from the wound to Brando's face.

"Might I have permission to ask a question?"

"You always have permission to ask whatever you want," The vampire allowed. "There are just some subjects I would prefer not to talk about."

"Of course. Whatever makes Lord Dio most comfortable." Brando swallowed thickly. "My question is…did you…did you live with a family, when you were young?"

"…L-Lord Dio…?" Brando asked.

"It has been…a long time…" Dio removed his hand from Brando's now-healed shoulder and stood, pacing a small distance away from his double. Brando stood and looked after Dio curiously. "It has been a long time since I have given my past such serious, contemplative thought."

"Does Lord Dio…not wish to discuss this topic?"

Dio shook his head and turned back to Brando. "I'm willing to talk about it. Only with you, though." Brando nodded firmly, as Dio stepped over to him. His voice then dipped into a baritone whisper, intended only for Brando's ears. "I lived with two families before I became an adult. The first consisted of my biological parents. I was an only child. We were a poor family. Scrounging about like rats for our fill was far from fun, but I believe we could have managed to pull ourselves out of that situation, if it hadn't been for my bastard of a father..." Dio initially spoke this statement with no emotional attachment to the issue of his male parental figure; however, as he reflected more upon his past, his expression began to twist in anger. "If it hadn't been for him…we might've had money to spend on good food, good housing, opportunities for better lives…all of our money wouldn't have been spent on alcohol. If he had just rotted in jail like he deserved to, then perhaps my mother wouldn't have…!" Dio closed his eyes and took a breath. After composing himself, he met Brando's eyes again. "My mother was worked to death because of him. In retaliation, I poisoned my father, and he died. From there, I was taken in as a son by the wealthy George Joestar, who owed my father a debt for saving his life. Even I find such a story far-fetched, but the Joestars of old were quite a gullible bunch. Especially Jonathan, the son of George Joestar, who was meant to treat me like a brother.

"Jonathan Joestar…He was quite a persistent one. Even with my constant torment…directing the hatred of his peers toward him, driving a stake in his relationship with his girlfriend, murdering his lowly canine companion… he still managed to find a way to stay positive. His father too. _Incredibly_ persistent. That is the only explanation I can find as to why he was able to fight for so long against the same poison that had taken my father."

"May I ask…why, Lord Dio?"

"Why…?" Dio drawled, raising an eyebrow as he folded his arms.

"That is…why go to such lengths to break the Joestar family?" Brando wondered. "It does not appear that they slighted you in the same fashion your father had…if anything, it appears as if your life was _better_ , living with-!"

Brando's neck snapped to the side from the impact of Dio's hand, a smacking sound bouncing off of the lonely walls of the chamber. A moment passed before Brando looked back to his original, his skin beginning to flare up in response to the pain. Dio's eyes smoldered as he bore into Brando with his gaze. He then blinked, as though waking up from a dream, as he stared at his copy. The vampire then took a deep breath and exhaled, letting his hand fall to his side. "I wanted the Joestar fortune, and they were standing in the way of that. That is _why_ , Brando."

"I…see," Brando responded quietly, turning his dejected gaze to the ground, "Please, forgive me, Lord Dio. I did not intend to upset you."

Dio paused. He then reached a hand up and cupped Brando's cheek, his thumb running over the angry red mark he had left. "I do wonder sometimes…if I would be a different man, if such circumstances had not befallen me…" Dio leaned in and planted a kiss on Brando's cheek, dispelling any pain he had caused as he pulled back. "I am aware that I would not have met Wang Chan; not as an adult, and certainly not as an adolescent. That man was quite useful to my endeavors. I would not have met…" He appeared to think for a moment before speaking again, "I would not have met all of those who serve me. However, most importantly…" Dio ran a hand through his copy's long blond locks, pushing them away from his face. He then pulled his hand back and placed it on Brando's other cheek. "I know that I would not have made _your_ acquaintance. And _that_ would be a loss beyond compare."

Dio pressed his lips firmly to Brando's, closing his eyes as he did so. Brando's eyes widened as he trembled. He felt utterly lost, delirious in the feeling of his original's mouth, soft skin contacting soft skin, as the vampire meaningfully stroked his double's cheekbones.

 _I…Lord Dio…He…feels…_ Brando shakily wrapped his arms around Dio's shoulders. _An involuntary…reaction…to this…but why…?_

A loud crash reached the ears of both men. Dio pulled away calmly, looking to the source of the sound with disdain. Brando joined his gaze, observing the fallen Lyn lying on the floor of the dank room. A broken vase lay next to her. Lyn looked up as Lord Dio stalked over to her. She immediately faced him and pressed her forehead to the ground, bowing deeply to the ground in an act of apology. "Please, forgive my ineptitude, Lord Dio," She said. "My goggles do not give well to peripheral vision."

"Hm." Dio turned to Brando and coaxed him over with a crooked finger. Brando obliged. "Have you ever considered perhaps taking those goggles off, Miss Aizumi?" Dio asked, leaning over the bowing woman.

Lyn tightly clenched her fists. "There are many, many tasks that I will perform for you, Lord Dio. However, I cannot acquiesce to that one."

Dio sighed. "Well, then, you can make this up to me by making another tunnel. Specifically, from here to the coast of Egypt. Now, get to it."

* * *

"Brando...?...Brando!" Lyn called.

"Hm?"

"I asked you a question."

"Ah, yes. It was…" Brando recalled, "'how do you feel about Lord Dio,' was it not?"

"That's the one," Lyn affirmed.

"My answer…is the same as always. He is my lord…My one and only original. I…would be nothing…without him."

"Gotcha, gotcha…" Lyn agreed.

She sighed. "Well, with how impatient he seemed to be today… I doubt we'll have time to swing by _Sinatra_ …" Despite her downcast voice, the woman's face still retained her lazy grin. Brando nodded dimly in the corner of the woman's vision. With a closer look, Lyn could see that he minutely, almost imperceptibly, shook with each step. She turned to the blond man, cocking an eyebrow. "You alright?" He nodded once more. She pursed her lips and put her hands on her hips. "Doin' a real good job… of convincing me, Mr. Brando."

After a moment of thought, she turned to the wall and walked towards it. Turning once more and pressing her back to the cold, packed dirt, she slid down until she sat on the ground. She then patted the area next to her, coaxing Brando into sitting down. The man obliged after a small amount of hesitation. Lyn then reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a small flower with elegant, narrow white petals. She held this flower out to her companion. "Give this a whiff."

She gently took Brando's hand and placed the plant in his open palm. Slowly, he raised his hand to his nose and inhaled lightly. Immediately, he understood the source of the gentle fragrance that always seemed to follow the woman; however, such was not the only realization that took over his brain.

The scent was soft, light, and sweet, but it was humble in how it miraculously subdued his anxiety and refreshed his spirit. The dusty, suffocating aroma of the winding tunnel seemed to fade away as the flower overtook and purified his senses, delivering a dose of serenity that poured over him in innumerable waves. He closed his eyes and sniffed once more, imagining the sprawl of a cool, arid night expanding in front of him, basking in the innocent lack of expectance from the flower and the woman beside him.

Brando slowly opened his eyes. "What…is this…?"

"Jasmine. Smells good, huh?"

Feeling his consciousness slowly return to him from a much-needed respite, he turned to Lyn and tilted his head, giving her a small smile. "You simply…carry flowers with you everywhere?"

"Well, yeah," Lyn said, resting her head against her arms and leaning back against them and smirking, "You never know… when I might need to wingman for you, you know?" Brando raised an eyebrow at her. She laughed. "I'm joking. I just… really like them. Not only can the smell transport you to another world… but they also represent love."

"I thought…that was-"

"Roses, right?" The redhead punctuated her sentence with a roll of her eyes. At least, Brando assumed that was what she did, given her gesture, "Well, there can be more than one… symbol for one idea. Besides, roses are way too sexy… for my tastes, not to mention way too pokey," Lyn folded her arms in front of her and gazed at the dark ceiling. "Though, to be fair, it makes sense why Lord Dio would like them so much. Given how… he takes to you, at least."

"What are you implying…?"

The woman yawned and stretched before speaking. "He is…kind of like a rose. He's pretty and draws people in and everybody loves him, but one step too close…and he just ends up hurting you. I don't know…I dunno if it's because of ill intent or what, but…he hurts people, and there's no avoiding that."

Brando thought back to the countless women his original had brought back to the mansion, those he had lured in for pleasure and fresh blood. Those people he had tortured just to study their reactions. And, most of all…

The subjects of the Stand Transplant experiment.

"Lord Dio…told me his subjects had committed wrongs that forced them under the knife," Brando explained. "Any he acted wrongly towards _deserved_ his punishment. Their screams…they pierced my ears and wrenched my gut. When I looked at their mangled bodies…I felt…sad. No injury had reached me, and yet…I felt pained."

"That makes enough sense."

"But…should I truly be expressing myself in such a manner…if they truly deserved what Lord Dio did to them…?"

Lyn turned away, her hands involuntarily tightening into fists, dirt scooting uncomfortably under her fingernails. "Did they…truly deserve punishment…?"

Brando stared at Lyn with upturned eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

The redhead swallowed thickly before turning back to the blond man. "I overheard Lord Dio… talking with Vanilla Ice at one point. He said…He said he was planning on operating on Captain and his kid."

"…What…?"

"I don't know… if that plan is still in effect, but-"

"Can we not dissuade him?!"

"Brando, calm down."

"But-!"

"I'm not even supposed to know about this," Lyn said, "and if he hasn't told you already, he probably doesn't want you to know either. It was a while ago that I heard this, so he probably ditched that plan…" She placed a hand on Brando's shoulder. "…Okay?"Brando breathed a sigh and turned to look at Lyn. She smiled gently at him.

 _Miss Aizumi…She has taught me so many things…So many things I would have never learned on my own. Whether she has told me explicitly or not, Lord Dio has concealed a great deal of information from me. I have yet to deduce whether or not this was for my own good; however…_ Outside of Lyn's peripheral vision, Brando began to reach a hand up to Lyn's face. _I want to trust her fully. And, if I am to do that, I must know…I must know what she is hiding from me._

As soon as Brando's fingers made contact with the form-fitting material of Lyn's goggles, the woman's gasped. She jolted back, pushing herself away from the man. "I won't…" She pushed her hands against the sides of her head, forcing the goggles further down onto her face, her voice shaking as she murmured quietly, "I'm not taking these off… I'm not taking them off. Don't touch them."

Brando pulled his hand back, as he let his gaze drift away from the redhead's figure. "My…mistake."

Lyn stood shakily before dusting off her pants and hands. "Yeah. Big time." She then turned and continued down the tunnel. Taking a deep breath, Brando stood and began to follow the woman's path.

The rest of the journey there and back was silent. The only relief from the tense atmosphere was the gentle, sweet scent of jasmine that drifted from Brando's warm palm.

* * *

"Thank you, D'Arby," Dio said.

The green-haired man bowed deeply after handing his master the book he had desired and backed out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. Dio turned back to the bedroom behind him and began to quickly thumb through the book, seemingly mindless of the fact that he had towers of books stacked haphazardly around the bed. He rejoined his double, who sat cross-legged on the dark bedspread.

"If my theory is correct…" The vampire muttered.

"Theory, Lord Dio…?" Brando asked.

"Just _think_ about it, Brando!" Dio exclaimed, holding the picture detailed in the pages of the tome out to his copy, "If we can just increase the efficiency of Stand Transplants, we'll be one step closer…just _one more step_ …"

Brando squinted as he stared at the picture. The components that made up the diagram only displayed themselves as a confused amalgamation of bits and bobs that somehow clung together to create…something. What that something was, Brando had no clue. He swallowed thickly. "If I may ask, Lord Dio…What exactly are you wishing to approach…?"

Dio made full eye contact with his copy. His blood-red eyes gleamed with an overwhelming excitement, like a predator inches away from a first bite into his prey. His fangs glistened in the candlelight, the sharp points only directing more attention to his otherworldly, fascinated grin. Dio finally breathed out his wish. It was one word, but it carried with it a power that shook Brando to his very core. "…Heaven."

Brando merely retained his reflexive smile. Having never experienced fear before, it was his only source of defense.

* * *

Captain looked up from polishing a mug as the entrance bell jingled. "Huh. Lyn said you were busy today."

Brando slowly made his way to the counter and sat down. "I surmise she has already been in today?"

"Yeah, you just missed her. She left with the tyke to leash in my lazy part-timer. He probably got lost trying to find one black trench coat in the marketplace… _again_ ," He sighed, "That kid, I swear I'll never understand him." Brando rested his arms on the bar and laid his head down on top of them. "Kid, you okay?"

"…I am…uncertain…"

"Hmm…" Captain narrowed his eyes. He replaced the glass on one of the counter shelves and moved back to the kitchen. Brando was not aware of time passing in the lonely quietude of the café. He merely closed his eyes as soon as the shopowner left. The next moment, Captain was nudging him into opening his eyes with a glass that exuded a light chill, the sound of ice cubes clinking against the inside reaching his ears. "This'll help calm your nerves, guaranteed." Brando sat up groggily and stared into the cup.

The beverage was not the usual cup of coffee that was served to him and his partner. The drink was a lighter brown than Brando was used to, accented by a light froth of foam along the top and ice cubes swimming in delicate close proximity. With a small breath, Brando raised the glass to his lips and sipped. The drink had hints of the original flavor of coffee he had grown accustomed to; however, the sweet flavor and citrus accents numbed Brando's senses momentarily.

The sensation was intoxicating.

Before Brando knew it, he was pouring the ice into his mouth to take in every remnant of the beverage he could. The shopowner looked on with a quirked eyebrow.

"Do you…have any more?"

Captain sighed. "Look, I don't like bringing out bourbon this early in the day. Besides, I can only afford to give you one free glass." Brando slumped forward as the entrance door opened once again. "Ah, you're back," He heard Captain grumble.

"Sorry, Boss! I didn't mean to lose track of time!"

From his position on the counter, Brando let his gaze drift lazily upward to look past his arm at the young man who had just spoken. His long brown hair curtained around his head, putting his dark eyes and sheepish grin on stage for all to see. His black shirt and ripped jeans seemed to blend with the comfortable colors of the inside of the building. If Brando didn't know any better, he wouldn't think this man worked at this establishment; however, the coffee-stain-accented dark green apron the brunet wore spoke to the contrary. Following behind him were the little girl in Captain's care and…

Lyn. The evening sun glowing in the doorway embraced her like a halo, giving the appearance of her fiery ponytail catching flame. Brando felt his eyes water from the sight.

"I promise it won't happen again, Boss!" The part-timer explained.

"That was what you said last time. You're lucky we don't get much business on days like these. Otherwise, I'd have to consider firing you," The shopowner responded, leaning against the shelf.

As if in response to the part-timer's face falling, Lyn walked closer to him and draped an arm across his shoulders. "Aw, he'd get madder… but Commander would get so lonely without you here, wouldn't he?" Lyn lilted, turning to the shopowner at the last statement, who seemed taken aback.

"Lonely? No, not me," Commander muttered, regaining his composure, "He just has a natural talent for making a good brew. It'd be blasphemous not to teach someone like that what I can bring to the table."

"Oh, but you could teach him your lassi-making skills, too… y'know," The woman continued, "Then, he could give ladies the bitter and the sweet that comes with a relationship."

"Hey, give me more credit! I have more things to live for than just women," The brunet said.

"Oh?" Lyn asked, backing up from the young man, "Name one thing."

He folded his arms. "The third installment in the _Barony Souls_ series, obviously."

"Seriously, what is your obsession with that series…?" Commander wondered aloud.

From where Brando sat, it looked like the young man's eyes were about to pop out of his head, as he stomped over to the bar counter and leaned over it to better project his point to his audience. "You don't understand, Boss. It has been over. Twelve. _Years_."

"I'm aware," The older man deadpanned. "You've told me multiple times."

Brando would've listened more to the conversation between the two men, if Lyn did not walk up next to him and place a hand on his shoulder. He groggily drifted his gaze to her goggles, glinting dully in the overhead lighting. "Hey, could I have a chat with you… for a second?"

"…A second has passed," Brando stated.

Lyn shook her head. "Okay, longer than a second… Maybe like five or ten minutes?"

Brando slowly closed his eyes and opened them again. "I will acquiesce to this request."

Lyn turned to Commander. "Hey, Commander-"

"That name sucks, too."

"Could I at least finish first?" The redhead sighed, "Fine, Boss… Can we use the room upstairs… for a moment? For a private chat."

"Go right ahead," The shopowner allowed. "Mind the dust, though."

"'Boss' works?" She asked.

Boss smirked. "It'll do."

Lyn responded with a cheeky grin of her own, before guiding Brando to his feet. The blond man stumbled slightly. "Are…you okay?"

Brando nodded slowly. "I am in the merest sense fatigued, but a sensation of dizziness plagues me in addition. I shall tolerate these feelings, however. They will not overwhelm me."

The woman slowly raised her face to look towards Boss. "Did you give this guy coffee, old-fashioned style?"

Boss shrugged. "He looked down in the dumps, so I thought it would ease his worries a bit."

"But…there are no dumps to be observed in this location…" Brando drowsily replied.

With a small yawn, Lyn gently placed an arm across Brando's back and moved to the staircase. She took careful steps with the blond man, the worn wood creaking under each fall of their feet.

The attic was somewhat dusty, as Boss had described; however, it was much more barren than Brando had expected, only holding a lamp, a dresser, a bed with fluffy blankets, and a bland, white sofa pushed against the wall. The room was slightly dim, save for the lamp light that had been irresponsibly left on, and the evening sky filtering through the singular window.

Lyn walked over to the couch and sat down, patting the spot next to her. Brando padded lethargically over to the seat and sat down. The redhead took a deep breath before turning fully to Brando and speaking. "I'm sorry."

"An apology…?" Brando wondered, "For…For what reasoning?"

"For closing myself off to you… for the past few days. I really wasn't okay with you trying to take my goggles off, but I shouldn't have avoided you like that... I should've explained why I reacted that way." Lyn wrapped her arms around herself and shivered lightly. "When you touched me then, you…you looked…" Brando leaned forward slightly. Lyn looked into Brando's eyes past her red lenses. She then turned to look at her folded hands in her lap. After a moment, she nodded to herself and resumed eye contact, or her semblance of it. "You looked like Dio." She paused, swallowing thickly. "I got…I got scared."

… _Scared?_ "The inkling of Lord Dio removing your accessory…this frightened you?" Brando was quiet for several moments before finally nodding. _She was…no, she_ is _terrified of Lord Dio…_ Brando thought. _…I will ignore her failure to refer to him properly…I will ignore this…That is the correct action, is it not? As…As the double of Lord Dio, I…That is not correct. "Lord Dio" is who he is for a plethora of reasons. A lack of success in acknowledging that is blasphemous. He has completed so many arduous tasks for myself and for all of the other companions he cares for. Regarding that fact, why does Lyn worry herself so? Why does the idea of exposing herself to Lord Dio scare her? …Why does that idea… frighten me?_

 _Why… have I felt terrified to present myself, body, mind, and soul, to Lord Dio? …Why have I felt fearful around the one who made me who I am? No…No, no, fearing the one one serves is…perfectly stable. It is possible to fear and respect him. Is that not what he told me? He is my lord. My one and only original. I would be nothing without him_

 _I would be nothing without him._

 _I would be nothing without him._

 _Nothing._

 _Nothing._

 _Nothing._

 _No-_

"Brando!"

The blond man experienced a tightening feeling in his face and chest as he closed his eyes and opened them again. A collection of moments passed, and his eyes grew blurry. He felt water slide down his cheeks.

Lyn shook her head. "You were lying when you said you were okay."

Brando stared at the couch cushions between himself and Lyn. "…I-I…"

"Brando…" The blond man looked up upon feeling a hand on his cheek, wiping away a droplet. The woman smiled gently. She motioned for him to come closer with her other hand. Slowly, Brando leaned towards her. He lost his balance halfway through this movement, falling head-first into the redhead's lap.

"S-Sorry! Sorry!" Brando said, scrambling desperately for a support to push himself out of his partner's personal space.

He felt a gentle, soft hand land on his head like a feather. "It's okay."

"M-Miss…" Brando turned his head to the side to look up at Lyn.

She still smiled at him, as she began to stroke his long blond locks with a strange, comforting warmth. "It's okay. Just take your time."

"…Sorry. I-Sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for... You didn't do anything wrong."

Brando squeezed his eyes shut, wrapping his arms around Lyn's hips. "Horrible…I'm horrible…Useless…Useless…Useless…I can't…I'm sorry…Please…Forgive…"

"Shhh, it's okay… it's okay."

Brando had never felt such a way before. All he could do was sob and hiccup as Lyn rested her hand on his head. The water would not stop forming in his eyes and streaking down his cheeks.

Amidst his cries, Brando heard a feminine voice singing a soft, slow tune. The voice belonged to Lyn.

The song had no lyrics; just a collection of serene notes that flowed from her mouth like a delicate stream, wrapping around Brando's body and sapping the tension that had built up in his muscles and bones. Listening to Lyn's voice weave through the air and reach his ears caused an unfamiliar warmth to bloom in his chest as he tightened his arms around the woman comforting him.

He did not want this feeling to go away.

Brando's voice no longer threatened to break out of his throat, as he merely sniffled quietly. Lyn allowed her voice to gradually quiet as he calmed down.

"...Copy failure."

"Doubting my original…Fearing him…Supposed to trust, but…Feel danger around him…"

"…Gave me life…What can I…What am I…" Brando felt fresh droplets force their way out of his eyes. "Scared…Useless…Frightened…Pathetic…No worth…"

"…Brando." The blond man looked up into Lyn's eyes. "You're not useless. You aren't pathetic…and you aren't worthless."

"But…I cannot fulfill…intended purpose…"

"Are you… _really_ speaking… what's on your mind?" Lyn asked.

"H-Huh…?"

"I guess now's as good a time as any to ask…" Lyn mumbled, thumbing her jasmine pin, "How do you feel about Lord Dio?"

 _Lord Dio…Lord…Dio…_ Brando sifted through his memories slowly and methodically.

Dio awakening him, on the day of his birth. Receiving teachings from Dio in a variety of subjects. Asking Dio about his past. Experiencing intimacy with Dio.

He compared these memories to how he had felt entering the café.

Drinking coffee alongside Lyn and Boss. Wandering through town with Lyn and the little girl. Confessing his secret fear to Lyn at this moment in time.

"Aside from my fear…" Brando spoke carefully, as though not quite believing the words falling from his lips, "Should I feel something about him?"

"Honestly…" Lyn took a deep breath, "You should. You should hate him."

" _Hate_ LordDio…?"

Lyn met his gaze as he stared up at her. "…Hatred with a reason… You might not believe this, but… I saw the future."

"…Elaborate."

Lyn sighed a small laugh. "Well, you should sit up first. I wanna… make sure you're listening to every bit, alright?"

With a bit of effort and instinctual hesitation, given how inviting Lyn's presence was, Brando sat up slowly. His mind felt clearer than before. He attributed this clarity to pushing water out of his face. His brain was no longer drowning.

After a yawn and a stretch, Lyn began to speak. "I didn't …always work for Dio. Before that, I lived in a small house in Japan with my busy husband and my… trusted colleague; however, our lives were far from dull. I had had this… bizarre fascination with Stands at that point in time; I wanted to see how they would react in multiple situations… mundane and not. Needless to say, I ended up forming a…rather odd relationship with mine…"

At this statement, her Stand materialized in front of her. Brando turned his head to see a ghostly automaton with four light-blue lights on its face, that seemed to represent eyes and eyebrows, and two antennae that stuck straight up from its head, resembling a cat's ears. The torso and head of the robot were rose-colored, while the clawed arms and lower half, consisting of a singular leg attached to a sawblade much like a unicycle, were jet black. The robot tightened its striking yellow bandana tied around its neck and tilted its head with a small creak as it stared at Lyn.

She chuckled. "Yes, we're talking about you, Last Surprise. Would you… like to join us?" The Stand shook its head and began to skate along the worn floorboards on its singular leg, squeaking as it moved and examined its surroundings. "Don't scuff up the wood… alright?" The robot turned to Lyn. At that moment, its top-right light flickered out, as it gestured to the lack of tracks it had left behind. The woman shook her head. "Anyway, back to… what I was talking about…

"One night, as I was conducting my research in the nearby park, I witnessed a falling star… crash land right in front of me. I'll never forget that entrancing, soft green glow it had. When I took a closer look at the impact site… Last Surprise suddenly went berserk. Thankfully, it didn't attack me, but it began dashing all over the place, flailing its arms around and blinking its lights frantically. It was a real struggle to call it back, let me tell you… but, after I did that, I knew for sure that I needed to unlock the secrets of this star myself.

"I tried near everything: analyzing its composition with a microscope…cutting off a small piece to see what was inside… testing small pieces in intense heat and cold… even ingesting it. All I obtained from these experiments… were more questions than I had answers… and a bad stomachache.

"Meanwhile, my younger colleague continued tinkering and toying with technological developments… Recently, explosive creations had tickled her fancy. I definitely didn't have the guts or the pure passion for the craft…at the time… to join her endeavors; I only warned her to always make sure she wore her safety gear… whenever she worked with her combustibles. She always, _always_ , took care with her bombs, until, one day… she got particularly excited when her toils were rewarded with an explosive that would help a lot with reconnaissance missions. I was toying with the star once again… and told her to be careful as she rushed in.

"But… I was too late."

"…She…tripped," Lyn grimaced. "I had turned to her… when I heard her cry out. I was worried about her safety, that's a common worry I have, but I shouldn't… have worried so much. She was safe… in her gear. There would've only been damage to the room…Maybe I would've suffered a bit of bodily damage myself, if I had just stayed put. But, I instinctively… panicked.

"The next thing I knew, a bright flash completely blinded me. Excruciating pain… stabbed at my eyes from every angle, like… a bunch of fire-tipped needles closing in on me. But, amidst the searing feeling… I saw something. A blue-green glow that flickered and glowed brighter by the nanosecond… encompassing me completely. I was impacted… by a wave of darkness after that. Then, I saw…" Lyn brought a hand to her head, the furrow of her brow visible even under her heavy goggles. "…A space center…corpses decaying faster than natural…One man standing over it all, and a few silhouetted figures standing against him… The world began to shrink and stretch in illogical ways in front of me. And then…I heard one voice, as one of the shadowed figures slowly became clearer to me. I saw… her face. Tearstained, broken beyond compare, fresh and faded cuts and bruises staining her skin…She shouted at the heavens, violently enough that it seemed like she could shatter them…She grasped at the back of her neck… like it was her lifeline, her other hand going to a necklace she wore that shined even in the darkness. She yelled…" Lyn swallowed thickly, as though attempting to fight back tears. "I have to go back! I have to go back!" The woman clutched harshly at her head, bunching red strands of hair in her tightened fists. "I have to go back…and defeat Dio in Egypt before this happens!" She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. Feeling eyes on her, Lyn looked over to see Last Surprise staring at her with a tilted head. She shook her head. "Her face…Her cry…Her anguish and despair...The flash of light that made my vision go white afterwards…They've found a new home in my memory…They won't leave…" Her hands returned to her lap, Lyn clenched them against her legs. "…And I don't… want them to."

"Was that…all that you were witness to?" Brando asked tepidly.

The redhead took another deep breath. "Far from it. That was just…the first thing I saw. I saw a lot of things…Events leading up to that point…Small interactions that set major happenings into motion…It's like… an entire life played out in front of me like a movie. I had to parse through everything I saw bit by bit over time, but one thing was clear to me… as I came back to my study…" Lyn locked eyes with Brando. "That Dio was in Egypt. He was the cause… of the fabric of reality shifting and waving in front of me, and he would cause harm and heartache to more… than just the people who were facing down the man at the space center." She placed a hand on her chest, fiddling with her pendant as she looked to the floorboards once more. "I had to ensure for myself… that I had seen the truth. I left my colleague with all of my research notes, with the warning that they were only for her eyes…I knew she and my husband would try and follow me if I gave any indication as to what my plans were…So, I left… without a word. At the time, I had had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, something that told me… I would not be able to return home.

"If I left the mansion after meeting Dio, he would've taken measures to keep tabs on me… That would lead him back to my family, and I wouldn't be able to stop whatever his plans were for resetting the world. So, I was forced… to stay and work with the monster I trusted with nothing."

Brando closed his eyes, allowing all of this new information to which he had been privy to sink in.

After several long moments, he opened his eyes and spoke. "I believe this serves to explain why a wave of apprehension impacted your mentality when I attempted to free your eyes of your goggles…does it not?"

Lyn gaped for a moment, before casting her gaze to her hands, twiddling her thumbs. "That's…definitely part of it."

She nodded to herself. She met Brando's gaze, and held it. Lyn carefully reached up and pressed a button on the side of her goggles. An almost inaudible hissing noise reached Brando's ears. His eyes widened.

"Wait, Miss L-"

"Please," She smiled shakily. "Just… let me do this." She slowly pulled off her headpiece and set it in her lap.

What Brando was witness to was the last thing he expected.

Where Lyn's eyes should have been…only flaps of skin remained, sewn together into straight lines. In the middle of each line, a small dark hole sat, small enough that only a needle could fit through. From a distance, one would think her eyes were perpetually closed, long lash-like-stitches crossing over her eyelids. In a sense…they were.

"Miss…Lyn…"

Lyn huffed a small laugh. "You still there, Brando? You've never… called me that."

Brando cast his eyes away. "M-My apologies. My mouth acted on its own merit and I could not control it."

"If you want to call me… 'Miss Lyn,' you can. There's no need to be so formal."

The man nodded. After a moment, he spoke up quickly. "V-Very well, then."

Lyn nodded herself and turned the goggles over in her hands. She pressed the button on the side again and two needles shot up out of the lenses. "You see, the needles here… reach my optic nerves and send information to my brain from there. In a sense, my goggles… are my new eyes."

"So, that blast then…"

Lyn nodded. "The burning sensation I felt. They completely… burned away. Or…I guess you could say they melted from the heat…" The redhead pressed the button on the side of the headpiece once more, retracting the needles, and held them to her chest. "After my colleague finished making these for me… she couldn't move for days on end…I've managed to get along fine… because of what I saw. I wouldn't have been the wiser if that accident hadn't happened. I told her over and over again… that that's just what that was: an accident. I could never… be mad at her. She should know that. Thankfully, she did recover and get back on her feet… but she handed all of her explosive research notes to me, saying she couldn't trust herself… with that kind of knowledge anymore." With a sigh, Lyn replaced the goggles on her head and pressed the button once more. Then she smiled. "Ah, good, you are still here. I'm glad I didn't bore you… with my story," She chuckled.

Brando shook his head. "To be advancing so far beyond your own possible limits…To…prevent the _reset_ of the world, you said?"

"The universe," Lyn corrected with a nod.

The blond pursed his lips. "Such a consequence is vastly unbelievable to my own consciousness; however, the capacity of weight placed upon shoulders such as yours strikes me as even more inconceivable."

Lyn folded her arms and stared down at the floor. "Yeah. You think of it… that way, and you think, 'Not just… an entire world of people, but an… entire _universe_ of lives being… completely… annihilated…how is anyone supposed… to deal with that?' Well, I think of it like this: I ask myself…'If this calamity happens, what would that mean… for my life and the people I care about?'…For me, of course any advancements I make in Stand research would be thrown… out the window, but, more importantly…I wouldn't be able to spend any more happy days with my husband or my…colleague, or the friends I've made back home and here. They would all be… wiped from existence." She placed a hand on her chest. "I want them all… to live their lives fully. I want them to experience… sadness, anger, relief, joy, and more in their lives…See everything the world has to offer them.

"It would be…the reset of _my_ world. And I can't let that happen."

"…I wish…to assist you." Lyn looked up at Brando. "There is…much that you have displayed to me today…More than I can ever hope to match with my own honesty." He held his head in one hand. "I must confess: I do still feel some degree of attachment to Lord Dio…However, his recent actions and mannerisms have…frightened me. If these shall pave the way to a universe being _wiped_ from _existence_ , then he must be stopped."

The redhead folded her arms. "Suki…The girl in the vision, she said needed… to 'defeat Dio'…this likely means…killing him." Brando's hand tightened in his blond locks. "I…I need to know… that you're okay with that, before you agree to help me."

The man smiled gently. "You have my thanks, Miss Lyn. And I assure you to every possible height, your aspirations are safe in my care."

Lyn returned the expression. She then scooted over on the couch and wrapped her arms around him. Brando was startled.

 _Is she…she is embracing my body,_ Brando thought _…I cannot feel temperature, and yet…she is warm…_

Slowly, with some uncertainty, Brando returned the hug and closed his eyes.

Lyn jumped a bit at the sound of sheets shuffling. Brando pulled away and turned around to see the remnants of movement settling the thick covers on the bed. The two adults turned to each other and exchanged a look before Brando slowly rose to his feet and crept towards the bed, Lyn following closely behind. As they reached the side of the piece of furniture, they waited a few moments. The blanket was motionless. With careful movement, Brando reached out and took the corner of the sheet in hand and began to lift.

Suddenly, in that moment, an incredible weight fell upon the man's shoulders as he stumbled and fell backwards onto his back. "What in-?!" Forced to look up at the ceiling, Brando only caught small glimpses of his assaulters. His eyes widened as he was witness to five smaller girls all pinning his arms and legs to the ground as he struggled. What startled him the most was how they all shared the exact same facial features and body structure of the little girl Boss kept in his care.

"Margret, calm down… Calm _down_ … Brando isn't going to hurt me…" Brando heard Lyn's voice above him, almost across the room.

A small whimper emanated from the bed, as the sheets shook. The sound of thumping footsteps and creaking wood echoed up the staircase as another presence entered the room. A small figure dashed right past the pinned down man and tossed the blanket up into the air. The sheet landed on Brando and he could no longer see; however, he could hear just fine. A small voice, that of the girl, reached his ears. "It's okay…It's okay…" The weight keeping Brando pinned to the ground seemed to vanish immediately. He pushed himself up off of the ground to see the little girl Boss was taking care of, smiling with her eyes squeezed closed, tightly embracing…the girl Boss was taking care of.

"There are…two of them…?" Brando asked.

"Well, yeah!" The little girl who had run in grinned at Brando, "We're twins, after all!"

* * *

"It is understandable at this point in time…" Brando nodded, sitting up straight in the chair turned away from the bar counter, "The girl who began to accompany us whenever we explored this small suburb and contributed to discussions was…"

"Me!" The upbeat girl nodded and winked. "My name's Anne! Don't go forgetting it now!" Anne then wrapped an arm across the shoulders of the identical girl sitting beside her. "And this here is my sister, Margret! She's a little shy, and doesn't like to go out much, so you guys got lucky meeting her that one time she decided to come out!" Anne looked to her sister, who was currently burying her head in Anne's shoulder. "Don't you wanna say 'hi,' again? I thought you liked these two?" The quiet girl looked up and pouted at Brando before turning away again. Anne rolled her eyes. "Come on, you should at least apologize for attacking him with Bachelor's Paradise like that. Why'd you even do that?"

 _Her Stand's title is "Bachelor's Paradise"…?_ Brando wondered, _…this seems not at all fitting for the powers wielded by a small child._

Margret made a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat before she finally spoke up quietly. "They were gonna reveal my hiding spot…I was gonna lose hide-and-seek."

"Oh, _right_ ," Anne said, scratching the back of her neck, "I completely forgot I was playing that with you."

"S-So mean…" Margret whimpered, sounding on the edge of tears.

"Anne, why didn't you tell me that when I asked you to go help look for my lazy part-timer?" Boss spoke up from behind the counter.

"Please, Boss, I'm right here…" The part-timer's voice was small.

"Oh, do you want me to lie to her, then?" Boss grumbled.

"…N-No, sir…" The brunet replied weakly.

"Well, you were having a big fit because you couldn't find him, and I forgot!" Anne replied to her caretaker.

"I always have a big fit when I can't find my part-timer," The shopowner explained.

"And your big fits always make me forget things!" Anne retorted.

Boss sighed and turned to Brando. "Well, I guess this is as good a time as any to introduce myself."

The blond man tilted his head. "Whyhaps did this not occur to your person before?"

The older man ran a hand through his messy locks. "…Didn't trust you."

"Hm. I do believe you had ample reasoning in that regard," Brando smiled, "I am most flattered that you now see fit to disclose how you are called to me."

"…It's Frank," The shopowner stated.

Lyn sighed heavily. "Thank _God_ … I don't have to call you by a stupid nickname anymore…"

"You didn't have to try so hard to get one to stick if you knew I was gonna trust him eventually," Frank muttered.

"Well, then maybe… you shouldn't have been so insistent we keep your name a secret," The redhead shot back.

"You know, I could've left that fleshbud in your head and you wouldn't have had a care in the world," The shopowner stated.

"I know, I know," Lyn admitted, flashing a sheepish grin, "And… I'm very grateful, thank you."

"You were fleshbudded, Miss Lyn?" Brando asked, awestruck, and turned to Frank, "And you _removed_ it?"

The grouchy man nodded. "Under My Skin may be microscopic, but he can do some pretty amazing things. And I thought I was just a good doctor for the longest time." Lyn opened her mouth as if to say something, but Frank shot her a glare from over his spectacles. "Before you ask, I told you, if you want to analyze my Stand so bad, buy your own microscope, bring it here, and _then_ we'll talk."

"But, I can't lug the one I have at home here…" Lyn whined quietly, "And no one… sells microscopes here. They're as rare a commodity… as black trench coats in the market."

"Well, at least _you_ understand when a search is pretty much fruitless," Boss replied, before jerking his head to the young man standing by his side behind the counter, "Which reminds me: this is my part-timer. Brent Wilson."

"Call me Willy!" The man waved as he spoke.

"I told you, no one is going to laugh at that stupid nickname," Frank punctuated with a roll of his eyes.

"They may not laugh, but I can guarantee they won't forget me!" Brent said.

"They won't forget you're an unfunny punchline. What an achievement," Boss mumbled, barely audible to anyone but Brando.

"Nice to meet you, Brando!" Willy said with a charismatic bow.

"You were informed about me…?" The blond man asked.

"We all were," Frank spoke up, "Ever since Lyn walked into my shop with a hearty 'Morning good, my sir,' I knew we needed to stay on edge with her companion, a.k.a. you. The question of how the coffee was right after did tell me that she was optimistic about getting you to see our way of thinking, though.""It was…a code…" Brando mused.

Lyn scratched the back of her neck. "Sorry about that…"

The blond man shook his head. "As I stated before, you had every right to keep secrets from me. Please, do not apologize for taking the sensible option."

"Wait, I wasn't informed about him!" Willy interjected, "All I knew was his name, and I only got that from eavesdropping on Lyn!"

Frank opened his mouth as if to speak, but Brando spoke up faster. "The use of logic in this situation suggests that you remained uninformed due to the fact that you would not have grasped the sensible option, I believe."

"…Did you just call me stupid?" Willy asked.

"You eavesdropped on me?" Lyn followed up.

Brent jolted slightly. "Ah, that, well, I can explain-"

Lyn sighed. "No need, it's fine," She then turned to Brando, "But, all of us _have_ been… planning to do what we can to throw a wrench into Dio's plans. We're still trying… to gather as much information as we can before events start getting… set into motion. I know I still need to tell you… everything I saw in that vision, Brando, but…" She smiled at him. "I think we'd all benefit… from learning what _you_ know about Dio, if you're comfortable with telling us."

Brando closed his eyes and folded his arms. _This shift in reality…This_ reset _of the_ universe _…It will all be caused by Lord Dio…_

 _I wish for these people to live. I believe I care about them. If the world is reset, Dio will be forgotten and wiped from existence, correct? My feelings may have shaken significantly…However, I feel some part of me…_ does _care about him…_

 _I wish for this reset to not occur. I desire for this plan to be halted._

Brando opened his eyes and met Lyn's gaze. He smiled sincerely, his lips turning up eerily. "As you wish, Miss Lyn."

-TO BE CONTINUED-

* * *

 **So, guys, I have a friend who ended up enjoying this cast of characters so much (his semi-insert included) that he wrote an extension to this story, but from the perspective of Brent Wilson, a.k.a. Willy. If you guys want to read that, you'll be able to find it at the link below, if you enter what is there after the slash sectioning off the url for this website, or search for the author "SquirreLJ" and look for the title "Coffeehouse of Memories". I really recommend you read it, not just because it brings both laughs and tears and is just really good, but also it ends up fleshing out a lot of character that don't receive much screentime (pagetime?) in the actual fanon of Sukiyaki. I hope you guys enjoyed this flashback story, and let me know what you think of SquirreLJ's "Coffeehouse of Memories"! Thanks for reading, and happy Valentine's Day!**

 **-Bluebow**

 **Coffeehouse of Memories - s/13207651/1/Coffeehouse-of-Memories**


	3. Freedom - A Minaj Oneshot

**WARNING: This story contains instances of graphic violence, gore, coarse language, and sexual content. A warning will exist at the beginning of a chapter containing anything explicit, and will be sectioned off by another warning right beforehand, and another line right where the explicit scene ends. You have been warned.**

 **You know the score by now; it's been way too long, I've been busy, and you've been waiting. This takes place between our first encounter with Whit (in the prologue of Sukiyaki Season 1) and our second encounter with Whit (in the tenth chapter of Sukiyaki Season 1) Hope you enjoy what I've come up with!**

* * *

 _Singapore! Not to be mistaken for the ghost town in Michigan, this remaining city-state off southern Malaysia is, despite being referred to as a "concrete jungle," almost halfway covered by vegetation. Almost everywhere tourists turn, there is some greenery to be seen. An experience in such a locale should be cherished for years to come._

 _Now, if the information gifted to me is to be believed,_ Whit thought as he strode down the sidewalk. His gaze scanned the nearby buildings with care as he mused, _the abode in question should be…_ His eyebrows raised as he looked upon a rather shabby shed, nestled in the shadow of a much taller skyscraper in front of it. Despite the cleanliness of the structure's gray walls, compared to the rest of the buildings in town, it seemed only the size of a living room. The blond man thought back over his previously acquired information before sighing and stepping over to the building. Without a word, he used Look to You to teleport within the walls of the shed.

Inside, there was no furniture to speak of; only a plaster ceiling and barren, tiled walls and floors greeted the man as he cast his gaze about.

 _And yet, this structure is far from abandoned…_ he thought as his eyes zeroed in on subtly-disturbed dust trails along the ground. _Perhaps…_ Whit walked to one of the walls and pressed his hands against it. He shifted his palms up and down, left and right; he slid them along the wall to the corner—then continued to search the next wall—before his fingers grazed a rough gap in the rightmost wall. Pressing his fingers into the gap, Whit tugged at the loose tile. Behind the panel, there were two small buttons with triangles on them: one pointing upwards and the other pointing in the opposite direction. Tilting his head slightly, Whit pressed each of the buttons. Neither so much as lit up. _Even so…_ The man raised a fist to the wall directly next to the button and knocked. A deep, hollow sound reached his ears. _The way in which these panels are separated…_ Whit moved his hands to the thin bit of cement that appeared to separate the left tile from the right and began to pry the two panels apart. As he expected, he heard a disapproving squealing sound while pulling the doors to the elevator shaft open with his bare hands. After opening the doors, he saw evidence of a pulley system, but there was no elevator. He smirked. _Someone is present at this current moment, then._ With careful hands, the man grasped the thick rope holding up the elevator and began to slide down it to the box below. Once his feet touched the rusted iron of the box, Whit teleported once more into the elevator underfoot. He was surprised to see the doors of the elevator were already open to the lower level.

As he walked into the room, he was not at all surprised by the environment surrounding him. Apart from the pillows and askew blanket hanging over the battered couch, which looked as if it had seen years of use, and the mini fridge pushed into the back-left corner next to it, the room painted the picture of a disheveled artist trying to pinch his pennies. The floor was covered by so many different shades of so many different colors that one couldn't even see the material the ungiving wooden floor was originally made from, and the blank and half-filled canvases sitting on three different easels in the room _did_ look to be collecting dust, strangely enough. A wastebasket overflowing with scraps of paper, processed food wrappers, and plastic silverware sat next to the worn desk in the back-right corner, which was accompanied by a backless stool and a sturdy bookshelf, filled with tomes about art, references for paintings, and a few VHS tapes. On closer inspection, the tapes appeared to have nothing to do with art: from left to right, they read, "BREAKDANCE You Can Do It!", _Breakin'_ , and _Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo_.

Apart from the odd selection of VHS tapes, Whit would have believed this room to have only been an artist's study, lost to the test of time, if not for the CRT television sitting atop a small table against the left wall with a shoebox full of cartridges situated next to it. Connected to the TV was some sort of gaming console with two controllers attached. The leftmost widget glistened in the low lamplight while the right one looked dusty. The device had been left on, stopped in time on what looked to be a pixelated version of a poker game. As the text box in the middle of the screen read, "PLEASE BET," the blue box just below that read "BET," with "$100," directly next to a red rectangle labeled "YOU" and "100,000." Directly beneath both boxes was a set of five cards facing up: a jack, a queen, an ace, a ten, and a king, all of the heart suit. _If I am to recall what the elder D'Arby sibling waxed poetic about, that should be what is referred to as a royal flush, no?_ Whit pondered.

Finally, the man turned to the door next to the couch. He could hear the distinct sounds of running water from behind the thick, wooden surface. He saw dense puffs of steam rising to the ceiling from below the door next to the couch.

 _Well, I do believe I shall not waste time simply standing here and twiddling my thumbs,_ Whit surmised as he turned to a rickety dresser in the corner closest to the elevator. He began to pull the drawers open quietly. Whit rifled through the bright, gaudy clothes and undergarments therein as he kept one ear trained on the bathroom door. The blond winced as he came across a blinding yellow shirt with a demonically ugly feline on the front before putting it back and shutting the drawer. The top three drawers contained nothing but clothes, but a few necklaces and bracelets were shoved haphazardly into the top drawer alongside the majority of the undergarments. The bottommost drawer contained sketchbooks, paint jars, brushes, and a collection of cassette tapes in a clear box. After Whit shut the drawer and moved to the writing desk, he opened the only drawer in front of the shoddy wooden seat. Inside was a small picture album. With his own instinctive curiosity dominating his movements, the bellhop began to flip through the pages.

The first picture in the album was a shot of a dark-skinned man with short, black hair and a fairer-skinned woman with long, brown locks standing in front of the skyscraper accented by arbors that stood in front of this very shack. Each subject of the photo wore a ring that glinted in the flash of the camera lens as they smiled—seemingly without a care in the world—while the man wrapped an arm protectively around the woman. The atmosphere of the picture, while of a time long past, still reminded the blond man of Singapore's mesh of urban and natural cultures.

The next was a photo of the brown-eyed man in the first image carrying a small girl with short, black hair and a hooked nose on his shoulders as they looked into an animal habitat at a zoo. The man seemed to be in the middle of a laugh as the child, wonderstruck, reached out to pet an orangutan that had approached the wall of the cage.

The next few pictures were quite benign: in one, the girl grinned impishly, despite the paint on her face, as her father sighed with even more paint on his face; the easel in the background of the workroom was covered in too many colors to make out what the finished product had been. The next displayed a garden, in which the girl was proudly handing a vibrant orchid to the woman from the first photo; she held one hand over her heart, patting the head of the child with the other. Flipping efficiently through the pages, Whit stopped as he spotted a damaged photo.

This picture had the same man and woman standing off to the side of an older, frailer figure, whose face had been completely poked out of the shot by lead-smeared, needle-sized holes, pockmarking his features. _I believe the colloquial term for what I am observing here is what one would call 'animosity.'_ Whit thought to himself. _Quaint..._ Whit noticed the wrinkled hand placed on the girl's shoulder as she seemed to bury any emotion her face could show.

Blank page after blank page followed until the end of the album. The photo on the last page had a completely different cast, save for the small girl, aged up slightly from the younger child in the previous pictures. The photo featured four other children: three girls and a boy. One of the girls had short, black ring lets and deep, blue eyes. Another was a youth Whit easily recognized as Suki Kanao, shorter at the time, with short, brown hair cut into a childish bob, and the third girl was even shorter but otherwise resembled Suki apart from wearing her hair in a long braid. At the center of the girls, the black-haired, blue-eyed boy stood triumphant; this boy was Kyuu Kanao. He was about the height of the young girl with black ringlets, whose hand he held in his own. Around his other arm, however, was Suki, who was blushing and kissing him on the cheek. The hook-nosed girl smiled widely and held two fingers over the boy's head like rabbit ears; with her other hand, she held two fingers over her left eye in a pose that seemed to imitate some Japanese pop idol. The smallest girl sat in front of Kyuu's feet and pouted at the camera, evidently unamused by having her picture taken.

Whit was abruptly yanked back from the photo by the back of his collar. He dropped the album as he was pulled to his feet; a feminine hand held a knife to his neck.

"What. The fuck," a woman's voice asked, "are you _doing_ here?" The sound of running water permeated the silence.

Whit teleported backward a few steps; taking the woman with him, he had hoped to catch her by surprise and loosen her grip. His hope was dashed when the hand on the back of his collar tightened and he was thrown to the floor. Giving him no time to rise to his feet, the black-haired woman with the hooked nose barricaded him with her legs. Her knees pressed into his arms as she held the knife to his neck.

"No fucking around. Answer the question," warned the woman; warm water dripped from her hair onto Whit's face.

Casting a quick, distanced glance up and down her body, the man blinked and returned his gaze to the woman's eyes. "Miss Goh, I would recommend you dress yourself properly before attacking a strange man in your housing. Such a foreign presence could attempt to take advantage of one such as yourself," he advised.

"Like hell I'd _let_ them," the woman scoffed. "Besides, if the guy can be entranced more by my curves than the knife in my hand, I'd say I've won."

"More importantly, a cold could very well catch you for not drying properly."

"You're worried about that?" she inquired blandly. The woman then leaned more into Whit. "How about you answer the fucking question? What are you doing here? Are you with that blond bastard, Dio?"

Whit narrowed his eyes. " _No,_ " he growled before continuing in a pleasanter tone, "quite the opposite, in fact. I am in the process of preparing myself as well as my allies to deal with that monster."

The woman blinked before narrowing her eyes. "I didn't see you with the Joestars when they came through here," she recalled.

"Correct! However, I can assure you, I am placing every effort within my capabilities toward assisting Miss Kanao and those with which she has partnered in obtaining the final result for which they wish."

Minaj retracted the blade and twirled it over her fingers with a thoughtful expression before pointing it at the man with one eye closed. "Why should I trust you…?" she interrogated.

"I am not proposing you place all of your faith in my being," the blond man began. "However, you desire to retaliate against the one who forced agony onto the woman you love, the one who robbed you of choice and freedom of thought." Minaj's eye narrowed. "Such a motive lines up with mine, almost completely. I only request one favor of you, and then I shall venture away from you in the pursuit of this end goal."

The woman searched Whit's calculating green eyes with the analytical chill of a predator before leaning back slightly. "Keep talking," Minaj sighed.

"The anklet you received from Dio—I observe that you are still in possession of this object," Whit observed as he pointedly glanced at the lower half of the woman's left leg. The bluish-white of the moonstone in her accessory glinted back as if in reply to the sudden attention.

"So…?"

"I would be most grateful if you could allow me to relinquish the item, so I may place the accessory into my own hands and allow one of my other allies use of it," Whit confessed. "Of course, I would compensate you for the troubles you have experienced since becoming involved, in addition to compensation for the item."

Minaj was silent. The woman then closed her eyes and sighed again. She stood up off Whit. "Wait here," she ordered in monotone before walking back into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her.

As he waited for her to return, Whit examined the half-finished painting that was left among the blank canvases. _I must wonder why a work was abandoned out here and not placed away from potential messes,_ thought the man, turning his eyes to the closet directly next to the bathroom for a moment before looking back to the unfinished work.

What had made it onto the canvas were undisturbed skies, free of clouds or the sun. In these skies swam fish of all different colors and shapes. The sky seemed to darken near the upper border of the painting, filtering into lighter shades of indigo and cyan near the middle of the art.

"It ain't done," Minaj muttered while shutting the bathroom door behind her. Despite her still-dripping hair, now tied back in a ponytail with a dark blue rubber band, any semblance of her having stepped out of the shower were gone. Her torso was covered by a hot pink tank top, and her legs were adorned with black bell bottoms with a white floral pattern.

Minaj wandered over to the mini fridge and produced a takeout box among a uniform supply of containers within the cold storage. She plopped down on the floor in front of the television, set down the takeout, and picked up the controller with purpose. A moment later, she let her chin fall into her open palm as an apathetic expression crossed her features. With a shrug, she stood and turned the console off with the press of a button. She rifled through the nearby shoebox. The woman seemed to ponder replacing the casino game with one of two different cartridges: a baby blue cartridge accented by an image of a shadowy vehicle bolstered by a highlighted, bright title, or a crimson red cartridge with a white-font title against a half-red, half-blue card with two baseball bats along the side. She ultimately placed the games back in the shoebox and pressed a button on the TV to change the input.

A few seconds after pressing a different button on the device, the image of a roaring crowd appeared on screen. The gazes of the fans all turned raptly towards a boxing ring revealed in the next shot. An unseen announcer spoke loudly from off-camera, "For our third bracket battle, we have last-year's heavyweight boxing champion, Shawn Kombs, being challenged by the up-and-coming boxing rookie, at two-hundred and eleven pounds, the man known as Ellelle Cool Jay."

Whit felt the name ring familiar in his mind. He did not expect his assumptions to be met until he saw both men standing across from each other. On the left side, standing in the red corner, was a tanned man he recognized. His black hair was shorter, cropped closer to his head; his chest was bare of any sort of markings, and his muscle mass was definitely more on par with a regular human being. However, this was without a doubt the same "Major Spring" who had been kidnapped by Dio. The past Ellelle grinned around his mouth guard at his emotionless opponent before turning his gaze back to the referee standing between them.

"Seen Jay in action before?" the woman asked as she cracked open her plastic container. The smell of roasted pork reached Whit's nose as she opened the box further and pulled the plastic silverware therefrom.

Whit blinked. "Something along those lines."

"Huh. Lucky," she muttered after swallowing. "I could only get one of his matches on tape from a friend a couple years back."

"Was this 'friend' Miss Kanao, perhaps?"

"…Potentially," the woman mumbled. She looked back to Whit with a raised eyebrow. "I ain't going anywhere, so you might as well sit."

Whit cleared his throat. "Miss Goh, time is of the utmost priority. You would do well to act in a more urgent manner," he disclosed as he approached the CRT.

"And _you_ would do well to loosen that stick up your ass," Minaj sighed as she returned her gaze to the screen; the sound of the bell ringing crackled through the audiovisual device. "You talk like you haven't relaxed one fucking day in your life. Is that just _not_ in your programming or something?" she deadpanned around a mouthful of pork.

"I can assure you, Miss Goh, that I am _not_ a robot."

"That means you can learn," the woman replied. She nodded to a spot near her. "So, take a load off, or get out. And loosen that crazy grin you've got goin' on."

"I do not believe I comprehend to what exactly you are referring, Miss Goh."

"Then, do the _first_ thing, then." Pursing his lips, Whit acquiesced. He slowly eased himself down. "The ground ain't goin' anywhere, tightwad," she muttered with a roll of her eyes.

The bellhop finally sat all the way down. After giving the rest of the room a cursory glance, he inquired, "Might I query, do you inhabit this miniscule locale with no other relatives or roommates?"

"…Guess you could say that," the woman answered with a yawn.

"How do you afford such luxuries as galvanism and dihydrogen monoxide that travels through pipelines?"

Finally tearing her eyes from the screen, Minaj gave Whit an accusatory look. "What, you a cop? Lay off, Houdini."

"Who…dee-nee?" Whit wondered before shaking his head. "Despite your misconceptions about my intentions, I shall inform you that that is not my name. I am called 'Whit Houston.'"

"Neat," the woman dismissed as she turned her attention back to the television. After finishing the last of her meal, she pinched the plastic knife and fork between her teeth before standing and bringing the box to the wastebasket. She crushed the container and shoved it and the rest of the trash down into the garbage cylinder. Afterwards, she moved back to the fridge, pulled out another box, and returned to her spot in front of the TV. Opening the box revealed the same dish as before, but it did not seem to be as fresh as the last.

After a few more minutes of Minaj shoveling food into her mouth and the robust commentary rumbling from the television, Whit asked, "So, I must catechize once more: would you possibly gift me with the Stand Transplant you with which were inflicted in your soma by Dio?"

The woman's expression became confused. "You must what with the what in the who-now?"

"The 'Stand Transplant,' Miss Goh," the attendant repeated. Despite his polite expression, the veins in the man's neck were visibly throbbing with urgency. The woman tilted her head. "Was that information withheld from you by Dio?" Whit queried

"…He gave me a bare bones lecture on what the fuck a Stand was, and how I would use it 'so I wouldn't be _completely_ useless,' he said," she scoffed. "I'll show _him_ the _proper_ way to use a Stand. By shoving it up his cold, vampire—"

"As I explained before, I shall venture away from your person as soon as you allow me to remove the burdensome accessory from your anatomy," the blond reminded. "Would you _kindly_ allow me?"

The woman appeared to be lost in thought for several moments before responding, "Nah, no thanks."

"Wonderful, then I must ask you to please lie back and—Excuse me?"

"Don't get me wrong, I want this off as much as you do. Probably more," the woman admitted with a stifled yawn. "Nah, that ain't the problem. The problem is you leaving me down here like I've got nothing to bring to the brawl with that bastard, Dio."

"Are you…" Whit pondered, "speaking seriously at this precise moment?"

"If I wasn't tied down by this… 'Stand Transplant' thing, I could take that asshole out if I wanted to," Minaj claimed. "He just got lucky pulling one over on me the last time."

The befuddled man blinked. "Under a typical circumstance, I would inquire as to whether one would be titled as 'courageous' or 'simpleminded.' However, I believe that line to be unnecessary at a moment where the answer would be obvious to a youngling. I do not believe you understand the crisis, Miss Goh," Whit began to explain, "for this battle will be quite dangerous indeed, even without your presence. Hence, I only approached this location in order to retrieve the Stand Transplant, an object meant to gift a Standless individual with one such crystallization of fighting spirit, and return to the multitudinous plethora of tasks upon my ever-growing queue."

"So, it's cuz I don't have a Stand?" the stubborn woman wondered as she set down her food. "Stands won't matter if I kick his ass before he whips it out."

"Then, what, pray tell, interrupted your efforts on the previous occasion to 'kick his ass,' as you so eloquently narrated?" Whit argued calmly.

"I was havin' an off day, jackass, that's 'what.' An off-my-A-game-day is all that was," Minaj sighed.

"Why in the name of all that is sanctified are you so intransigent upon this decision?" the blond asked.

"Cuz he hurt my soul sister, alright? You happy?" She finally turned to the blond as Ellelle suffered a knockout uppercut on the screen. Whit was silent. "He made me _attack_ her. I could've _hurt_ her! Not to mention, from what Kiki said, Kyuu was spirited away cuz of Dio. I'm not a fan of him, but her bro means a lot to her." The woman pulled her knees toward her. "I should've…I should've argued when I had the chance. No, what right did I… No, I definitely should've!…I don't even…" the woman trailed off as she absentmindedly rubbed at the moonstone in her anklet. "…Who was…talking to her…?"

"Miss Goh?" the blond man asked.

"If I can bring it back to the bastard that separated her from her family, then I'll do anything." The woman narrowed her eyes as she removed her hand from the accessory. "Nothing will stop me from helping her just one last time."

"Then, shall we appraise your own combat ability?" Whit inquired after a few moments.

"Shall we what now?" Minaj asked.

"You stated that the irksome object attached to your personage prevents you from battling at your highest potential, yes?"

"Y-Yeah…?"

"Then we shall disconnect this accessory, and your propensities will be evaluated by me," the blond man explained.

"Uh, okay…" the woman responded with a skeptical gaze, "but, how?"

Whit hummed in thought with a hand on his chin. "Given the records I consulted… I do believe… the most efficient and effective fashion in which I could estimate would be…" He nodded and met Minaj's eyes. "I do believe I have happened upon an idea. However, the aforementioned idea will require that you comply with a minor surgical procedure. I must implore you to lie back as I perform this technique."

Minaj appeared to give this some thought before nodding slowly and lying back.

"You would trust me so readily?" Whit wondered.

"Well, I don't exactly have any other options, do I?" she shot back with a shrug. "The doc didn't have a clue how to remove this fuckin' thing, so I gotta make do."

Whit stood promptly and retrieved a pillow from the couch. "Do you possess a first-aid kit, Miss Goh?" he asked.

"Under the bathroom sink," she instructed.

The blond bellhop opened the door to the bathroom and found what he'd been looking for in the place the woman had described. While in the small, much less dusty room, he grabbed a clean rag. After returning with the first-aid kit, Whit gave the pillow in his other hand to Minaj, who propped it under her neck. The attendant spread the blanket from the first-aid kit under the woman's leg and dropped to his knees next to her. He rolled up her left pant leg to expose the anklet fully. As Whit looked to Minaj to ask a question, he saw she had narrowed her eyes at him. "If you run off with this, I will find you and come along anyway," she threatened.

"I understand, Miss Goh," Whit deadpanned as he rolled up the cloth and handed it to the woman. "Would you bite this?" As she opened her mouth with a retort on her tongue, the blond man cut her off, "I argue against underestimating the pain of this procedure, Miss Goh." Minaj sighed through her nose and shoved the rag between her teeth. After donning the rubber gloves within the kit, Whit set to work.

Unlatching the anklet to be prepared for removal was easy. Cleaning around the area where the impromptu surgery would be performed was easy. Physically removing the Stand Transplant was _not_ easy. Minaj's eyes bulged at the first graze of the forceps. The woman yelled around the rag in her mouth as Whit carefully excavated the implant from her skin. Even so, she did not try to pull her leg back, no matter how grueling it was to sit through each precise incision and retraction.

After thirty long minutes, Whit made one more cut and pulled away the bloodied accessory with the forceps. Minaj huffed around the rag as sweat ran down her face and her eyes watered. The blond man cleaned the small wound, causing the patient to wince, and bandaged it thoroughly. Removing the rag from her mouth, Minaj sat up and eyed her newly-bandaged leg.

"Thanks for that," she muttered while reaching into the white case. She produced a small bottle of pain-killers after some rifling around.

As the woman placed a hand on the lid, Whit covered it with his. "You are aware that medications such as this cause excessive bleeding after surgery, are you not?"

Minaj tore her hand away from his with a disgusted look. "Not so fast, know-it-all. I can at least take Tylenol."

"Might I inquire as to what the difference is between that and the majority of other pain-killers?"

"Got me," the woman admitted as she popped a pill in her mouth. She padded over to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. As she turned around, Whit noticed she had an extra beverage in her hand. She tossed this to the blond bellhop, who caught it without a hint of effort. Minaj cracked open her bottle and took a swig from its contents before grimacing at the bitterness of the pill. Then Whit opened his own and imbibed some of the fresh drink.

After a moment of respite, the attendant set to cleaning the makeshift medical area while Minaj disappeared into the bathroom to wash her face. Whit glanced at the Stand Transplant for a few moments before producing a second washcloth and wrapping it around the accessory. He then slipped the object into his pocket. A few minutes later, Minaj emerged from the bathroom and walked to the closet right beside it. Careful not to disturb the dozens of colored canvases collecting dust within the closet, she yanked an evergreen sword bag from the small room alongside a duffel bag and a pair of black, high-heel boots that reached just above her knees.

"Let's go, then," the woman said blandly after donning the footwear.

"You are startlingly prepared for the sudden nature of this event," Whit noticed as he replaced the first-aid kit under the sink.

"I was gonna follow after Kiki at some point," Minaj shared with a shrug.

Attempting to mask a slight limp, woman strolled into the elevator with Whit close behind and reached with the sword bag to push up a panel in the ceiling of the elevator. Shouldering the duffel bag, she took a few steps out of the metal box before taking a running leap. She vaulted off the bar melded to the back wall and propelled herself upward to grasp at the side of the opening in the ceiling. With a bit of effort, she pulled herself up through the hole, as Whit followed behind with Look to You. The woman cast a glance at him before slowly rubbing her hands together and grasping the cord connected to the pulley system. "I guess that warping skill explains how you were able to make it in here," she commented as she climbed.

"I would find myself in different circumstances if a 'warping skill' was all I could attribute to my name," Whit responded as he pulled himself up after her.

Minaj rolled her eyes. A few moments of silence followed before the woman piped up again, "You called me 'Miss Goh' earlier. I'd definitely recognize your mug, so who told you who I am?"

"A person with whom I no longer associate managed to compile a list of some of those who had received Stand Transplants such as yours. Your form of being addressed had been written within the compilation. Thus, I set out to retrieve that from you."

Minaj nodded with a hum. As they reached the open door to the basement, Minaj leapt from the cord to the elevator platform just past the open doors.

"You're lucky no one else walked in here, buddy," the woman muttered before turning back to the blond man as he landed gracefully past the doors.

"I do not believe they would have been able to do much, Miss Goh," Whit retorted.

"Still," Minaj began as she walked back to the doors and pushed them closed. "I'd rather not certain people see the inner workings of this place." The woman gave Whit a dirty look as she passively picked up the discarded panel that covered the broken elevator buttons and pushed it back into place.

The two walked out of the shack. Minaj turned around to lock the door with a ring of keys she produced from her pocket. She began, "So, what exactly is this idea—?"

"Hands where we can see 'em!" an authoritative male voice carried from the shrubs barricading the area around the shack. When Whit and Minaj turned around, they saw three men brandishing weapons at them: two held police batons, and one carried a taser.

 _They must have launched their patrol following my entrance into the building,_ Whit thought.

The woman eyed the three police officers with a lazy, half-smile as she set her belongings on the ground. The sword bag hit the concrete underneath with a heavy thud "Darryl. Been a while since I've seen ya," she greeted. "How're the kids?"

"That's none of your business, Minaj. Now, lie down on the ground and put your hands where we can see them," the man in the middle with the taser, apparently Darryl, demanded.

"…No, I don't think I will," Minaj sighed with a small laugh. "For multiple reasons, namely that it would involve following your bitchass orders."

"We're going to give you five seconds, Minaj! Otherwise, we will be authorized to use force!" the man to Darryl's right cautioned.

The woman turned her head to the left to look at the man who had just spoken. "Bryan! I didn't recognize ya! How ya been?"

"Three seconds, Minaj!" Darryl warned.

"Miss Goh," Whit wondered with a confused glance, "what exactly—"

"Hang on, bud, I'll explain once I take care of these guys," she dismissed without budging a centimeter from her lackadaisical posture. "Just sit back and watch, yeah?"

" _Move_ , men!" Darryl shouted.

Whit blinked. Then suddenly, Minaj was gone. Casting his eyes forward, he saw her rushing for Darryl just as his two subordinates dashed toward the woman. Whit folded his arms as he acquiesced to her request.

The woman dodged Darryl's taser without a challenge. In a fit of physical prowess, Minaj flipped forward and nailed the taser-wielder in the face with a descending axe kick, which forced the man's head down with a grunt. Giving him no time to recover, the reckless dame climbed his shoulders and slung her legs over them. She then threw her body weight forward, slamming Darryl into the ground.

The other two men looked from where Minaj had once stood back at their superior. Darryl had been reduced to a groaning mess in less than five seconds. The other officers could only assume that they would suffer the same fate, and yet, they kept advancing toward the powerful lady.

Minaj smirked as the man she'd called "Bryan" attempted to grab her. She swiftly spun in a lithe dodge around him and elbowed the back of his head. As she turned to size up the recoiling man, the other officer grabbed her from behind in a full nelson. As if she'd expected him to sneak up on her, the woman simply slipped her arms out of the attacker's grip and landed in a crouching position. Then she threw her foot up and back into the man's skull. Minaj landed on her back before quickly jumping to her feet and observing her injured opponent. He also recovered swiftly, and he came at her with a punch. Her ears pricked at the sound of footsteps approaching directly behind her. As the other man reached her back, Minaj cleverly slid out of the way around Bryan's back; the maneuver caused the other police officer to mistakenly hook Bryan in the chin. The woman brought her leg forward before kicking back and striking Bryan's heel with hers. The impact forced Bryan's foot up into the other official's groin and drove the other man to bend forward. As Bryan collapsed onto the ground, Minaj maneuvered behind the other man. She weaponized her elbow once more to strike the back of his head.

Suddenly, the woman felt a surge of electricity course through her veins. She dropped to the ground as she heard approaching footsteps. Darryl stood over her with a pair of handcuffs in tow.

"Hard to believe a woman like you can be so agile…" he huffed as he used the tip of his boot to poke the bit of belly fat that wasn't held back by the hem of her bell bottoms.

The collapsed woman smirked. "I'll take that as a compliment," she snarked.

Darryl rolled his eyes. As he leaned down to cuff the woman, Minaj rolled onto her back and kicked at the man's thighs. As the last man standing recoiled in shock and pain, his opponent wrapped her long legs around his and pulled him to the ground. With one final punch to the face, Darryl was knocked out cold.

"Hmph. Didn't even break a sweat that time," the woman muttered as she rose to her feet. "You guys are too easy. Guess I shouldn't complain too much, though. Same time next week?" She crouched next to Darryl. After a few moments, she fished out his wallet from his back pocket and began to rifle through it.

"You peculate the funds of those who would arrest you?" Whit asked as he approached.

"Hey, _they_ attacked me first. I reckon I'm justified," Minaj defended. She pulled the Singapore dollars out of the wallet and returned the leather accessory to its rightful place.

"I find it increasingly mystifying that one such as yourself would consistently escape the arrest of the Singaporean police force. From what I have gathered, you follow after your father in forgeries, and currently, adding to the zenith of complications, you pilfer from those who would enact justice on you?"

"...It ain't murder," the woman stated. She shrugged, but there was a faraway look in her eye. The emotion was gone in a second as she moved to Bryan and repeated the thieving process. "And I'm no forger. I can't paint half as well as Pap, who's _basically_ my dad."

"…Indeed, I suspect I am approaching the conclusion surrounding your past state of affairs," Whit claimed as he tailed the woman.

"Does that include what you found from nosing around in my photo album?" Minaj snarked lowly as she replaced Bryan's wallet and moved to the last unconscious officer.

"Perhaps, however, I conjecture that you do not currently find yourself within a condition to comfortably elaborate upon the topic. Is my assumption correct?"

"Yeah…Yeah, now isn't really a good time," the apathetic woman confessed. She pouted as she found nothing in the third man's pockets. As she stood, she turned back to Whit. "I still gotta prove my 'utility' to ya, right?"

"Absolutely, I am quite familiar with a vaster array of individuals who possess the capacity to incapacitate three grown men than those who are unable," stated the blond attendant, adjusting his small, white cap in the cool breeze.

"Well, dang, you should've swung by last week," Minaj huffed. "I'm pretty sure half this country's police force was after me. Maybe more."

"…I find challenge in donating credence to your statements," Whit debated while observing the few fallen men.

"Believe what you want," vouched Minaj, transitioning from a shrug to a stretch of her arms as she stood up. "We might as well head wherever this idea of yours takes us."

"Excellent. Then we must venture on to the Mass Rapid Transit line," the blond bellhop instructed. "I deduce that you would be the optimal leader to such a location."

The woman raised an eyebrow but shuffled forward nonetheless. "For a guy who speaks like he's some Medieval punk from the 4th century, you sure are up to date on the news. The MRT just opened about a month ago," she shared over her shoulder to the following attendant.

"I must consistently contain awareness of contemporary travel, for my undertaking necessitates knowledge of the forms of transportation which excel in potency and proficiency. Also, I must contend that the Medieval era extended from the _5th_ century into the 15th century; furthermore, I profess that one who hails from such a time period could not be referenced as any title less accurate than 'punk'," Whit corrected.

"Semantics," Minaj groaned as she turned back to the bustling sidewalk. As the duo continued toward the station through the hustle and bustle of the Singapore afternoon, the woman couldn't help but wonder what she'd gotten herself into.

* * *

"Wait, so you knew all of that about the MRT, but you'd never been on one?" Minaj asked in disbelief as they squeezed into the spotless train car. She appeared thoughtful for a moment as she grabbed the handle hanging from the ceiling before continuing, "Thinking about it, you _did_ spend an awful long time in front of the map."

"One can never be too safe when ensuring the directions taken will be free of error," Whit argued as he glanced to the woman beside him. "I must divulge that it is supremely practical that the many signs dotting the colossal, labyrinthine interior of the station are color-coded."

A sonorous, two-note beep blared from the speakers. "Doors are closing," a synthetic, feminine voice announced. Following a uniform tone of ten bubbling notes, a few moments after, the same beep from before preceded the voice declaring, "Next station: Fort Canning." After this announcement, the car filled with the lively conversations of the couples, families, and coworkers all clumped therein.

 _Must be the holiday crowd,_ Minaj mused. _Everyone's so immersed in their own chitchat, I honestly can't even hear myself think when it gets like this. It's kinda nice._

"Are you quite certain nearly a _bisection_ of the Singaporean police force threatened you with restraint?" Whit piped up through the din.

"You're still reeling from that, huh?" Minaj brooded. "The reason only three guys keep 'supervising' me is cuz they realized the tip they'd gotten was false. Some asshat thought it would be funny to call me a murderer, in addition to a plagiarist's accomplice, so the entire force came after me. But, once the fight was over and they saw the worst any officer suffered was a broken bone or two, they decided to lay off. 'Least, that's what I could interrogate out of one of the mooks."

Whit hummed in thought as the vehicle stopped. Sliding open, the doors allowed passengers to file out and new voyagers to enter. The doors closed, and the procedure played out once more with the voice announcing, "Next Station: Bencoolen."

"What terminated your efforts in halting your father's arrest?" Whit wondered. "My sources indicated that you enacted a consistent, unyielding defense of him until quite recently, which would be a few months prior to today, if my source can be alluded to as worthy of trust."

"Well…" Minaj trailed off with a sigh. "He did. Special Forces came after Pap, too. When he saw them, he went along willingly. He said he would take whatever charges they had for him. I only found out later that they were charging him with murder, too, and without a trial, no less."

"How did your 'mother' conduct herself preceding and succeeding this series of events?"

The woman let her eyes drift to the floor. She didn't respond further. Whit let the silence linger among the clunking of the train and the numerous sentences buzzing about the room.

It wasn't until the voice declared the next station to be "Changi Airport" that Minaj lifted her gaze with skepticism etched into her features.

"Did you…ever explain what your plan was?" she asked.

Whit did not reply until they reached the next stop and the doors opened. "I abstained from revealing my intention, for I presumed you would take flight at the prospect. That is, if I am drawing flawless inference regarding your previous dearth of motivation," he expressed as he led Minaj out of the car onto the platform. "I will eradicate any beliefs at this moment that this will have aught to do with literal flight."

The woman narrowed her eyes as she nimbly wove through the passersby. She had to slow down in order to allow the blond to catch up, as he was having difficulty squeezing past the meandering individuals. "Okaaaaaaaaay, then what _does_ it involve?" she pressed while impatiently climbing the escalator after Whit. He didn't respond. "Hey, Houdini?" she called. He refused to respond. "Quit ignoring me, asshole," she huffed.

After navigating the stairways and halls out into the sunlight, the attendant finally responded. "Have you on no occasion pondered for what purpose the guardians of the law who spirited away your paternal figure divulged their native country? Such would be an unintentional disclosure of where exactly a humanized bombshell could deign to land if someone valuable were confiscated," he speculated as he began to make his way down the sidewalk.

Minaj sneered at Whit's remark while she walked until she put more thought toward the question. She narrowed her eyes as the situation seemed to take a toll on her mental capacity.

"Your preliminary instinct surfaced as follows: someone inhabiting this sector must boast intelligence surrounding these acts of law," Whit deduced. "After all, how would a Singaporean individual learn of your father's position? The inhabitants of Egypt are skillful in the art of scammery, so no single mortal—merchant, customer, or otherwise—would display any sort of subtle emotional reaction to the likes of your father's sins." Minaj's face tightened; however, the blond man continued, "Those of the country would perform many acts if the prize situated at the end goal was of monetary value. As such, your suspicions fell upon the citizens of Cairo, and so, in solitude, you commenced a process of searching and interrogation. I shall pose this query next: what is the name of the final person you had the ability to consult?"

The woman's fists clenched. "Dio…"

"I am aware of the existence of a certain man, whose nucleus is entrenched deep within the idea of recrimination. He was only gifted with perception as to where the target of his retribution would be by Dio. As vacuous as the dullard could be, he was at that moment left unaware to the fact that the aforementioned target served under Dio. Now, let us advance double-time to a point closer to the present: upon your entrance to his whereabouts, Dio donated intelligence regarding the current condition of your paternal figure. Do you possess any inkling as to why exactly he would retain such cognizance for utilization?"

Minaj felt a pit open up in her stomach. She picked up the pace to walk next to the man. "Are you saying…" she began as she gazed at him. Whit nodded. "So, he's _serving_ Dio?"

The blond attendant blinked. "I am uncertain of onto whom I should place blame; however, I believe you ceased forward momentum at a destination that far differs from my own. I intended to explicate that Dio may have held vast participation in the detainment of your paternal figure. Most likely, through the use of a third party upon whom he had managed to exact control."

"Just when I thought that bastard couldn't be more evil," Minaj sighed. "But, wait, so he let me go to Singapore, where Pap's being held captive, and…what? Did he expect me to just roll over and die?"

"If I were to guess," Whit mused as he adjusted his collar, "two possibilities existed for him: either you would prevail over the Joestars, and he would partake of your life and body, or you would find yourself defeated at their hands, having only stalled the inevitable. At such a locus, I presume he had something far more sinister in store…"

The two finally came up to the gargantuan stone wall that seemed to extend for kilometers. In the middle, assimilated into the structure that almost bore resemblance to the Berlin Wall, at least to Minaj, stood a large, white, and metallic building with an even taller white gate behind it. The heavy-looking door seemed to beckon curious passersby closer, but the uniform turret adorning the roof of the building seemed to ward against any such inquisitiveness. The clocktower looming over the entrance from its location further within the wall chimed ominously four times in succession.

"Did he…" Minaj struggled to form the words as she and Whit hid behind a shrub several meters away from what looked to be the entrance. "He wanted me to die."

"I would find myself unsurprised if that had even been a passing thought within his mind. Most likely, he perceived your character and form as purely garbage, and thus decided to 'take you out.'"

"That's disgusting!"

"I am aware."

"A fucktard like him ain't my type!"

Whit turned his lifeless face to the woman. "He most likely wished to _butcher_ you, in addition to your father, Miss Goh." As Minaj shamelessly voiced her realization, the white-clad bellhop sighed. "His scheme following your massacre would have plausibly been that he would abscond with the Stand Transplant attached to your framework. As such, I conclude that he took at the highest-least one or two measures to prevent a secure retreat."

"But, I didn't—"

Whit held up a finger to silence Minaj's words in her throat. "Dio is aware of many factors when the time has arrived for him to create an inspired scheme: the intricacies of man and woman alike are but tomes laid bare for viewing at his pleasure and leisure," the man detailed. "However, I am of the opinion that he misinterpreted your character and motivations. For a collection of fathomless reasons, selfish or otherwise, you maintained a disposition of limbo: restraining yourself from freeing your father from his shackles while overflowing with desire to liberate him." The woman scoffed and turned away. "…Until today." Minaj turned back to the blond with an uneasy look. "Your combat prowess shall be examined thoroughly as we unmanacle your father and decamp the consequences."

Minaj appeared to lock herself away in her thoughts for further deliberation. A full minute passed before she took a deep, heavy breath. "Okay," she agreed, "let's bust 'im loose."

* * *

 _Changi Prison! Built by the British Administration of the Straits Settlement, this penal institution began as a guardhouse for prisoners of war in 1936. After its construction, it was lauded as one of, if not the best, penitentiaries among the massive British Empire. The facility can be described as a place where prisoners rarely see the sun; not only are captives prevented from viewing the sky, save for small holes in the wall and a thrice-a-week exercise regiment, but they are also restrained to their cells twenty-three hours a day, they must sleep on the floor, and they are also susceptible to being punished by caning. These inhumane conditions are a great hindrance to those who would desire to reintegrate with society._

A large, dark-skinned man stared up at the bleak ceiling of his solitary cell. His fiery brown eyes narrowed as he scratched at the short, black hairs growing in on his scalp. The man's fingers drifted to his scarlet, feather-ornamented scarf, draped over his white t-shirt. He pondered something for a moment before letting his hand drift back to his side. His stomach growled angrily at him. The man let out a sigh as he scratched at his leg through the uniform blue shorts. Placing his heavy palm on the itchy straw mat under him, he sat up with pursed lips. His thoughts continued to drift to the outside: How long have I been here? What's happened since I left? Is my _asfoora_ okay?

Suddenly, the man heard shouts from down the hall of the T-shaped facility. With confusion lining his features, he stood and approached the iron bars that held him captive. The yelps and hollers approached his cell: each successive guard's cry for battle or word of warning was silenced by a thud or a slam. As soon as the man looked to the left, towards the nearing sounds, he witnessed an officer fly across the hall from that direction. The long, continuous scream of the airborne guard served to embellish the savage display put on by an overnourished, dark-skinned woman with unkempt black hair and a hooked nose while a strange, grinning blond in a white bellhop uniform merely watched.

"M-Minaj?" the prisoner asked the woman. She didn't respond.

As the woman rushed down the hallway, two guards dashed in from the right. One of the uniformed men eased forward and aimed to punch her with a right hook. Minaj dodged under it and threw an uppercut into her attacker's chin. The force of the counterattack caused the man to fly into the air, and his head knocked against the stone ceiling before his body dropped like a lead weight. The other man tried to kick the woman in the abdomen, but she glided to his right. Determined to strike his target, the official brought his left leg back and swung it toward the woman. His weaponized limb was stopped as his foot scuffed along the wall and gave Minaj the perfect opening to send a devastating elbow jab into his knee. The shout of the man was accompanied by a sickening crack before the feminine force of nature stepped back and threw a high kick into her opponent's face.

"Are there…any more?" Minaj asked through light pants. Her shoulders rose and fell with each breath, but she didn't seem to be worse for wear.

"Now, why on this viridian heavenly body would I disclose any answers to an examination in which you are currently partaking?" the blond man lilted. The woman rolled her eyes.

"Minaj…" the man behind the bars trailed off. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"…Isn't it obvious, Pap?" Minaj asked as she steadied her breath. She gave a half-smile as she stated plainly, "Saving you, that's what." The woman turned to her companion. "Houdini, any of 'em got the key?"

"I believe I have happened upon a ring of sixteen small metal insertions, yes," the blond man affirmed as he showed off the object in question, plundered from one of the most-recently-unconscious guard's pockets, and tossed it to Minaj.

"Sixteen, you said…?" the woman repeated as she examined the loop of keys. Picking one at random, she stuck the key she had decided upon in the lock and twisted it. The tumblers within the door clanged in affirmation and Minaj was able to open the door with an ear-scratching creak.

"Minaj, this is so dangerous. Don't you understand?" her father scolded. "I can't believe you put your neck on the line to break me out of jail!"

"Pap, haven't you heard? They're accusing you of _murder_ out there! Why are you okay with serving a false sentence?" Minaj interrogated.

"…Maybe I deserve it," the man confessed.

"For _forgery_ , Pap?" the woman asked with a skeptical expression. "Don't you think this is a little much?"

"No," he sighed. "I feel like I deserve it because…well, because I could never make you feel safe at home. It's all my fault that you were put in danger. If your father were here, he would have screamed his head off at me."

"My…father…" Minaj repeated thoughtfully. She narrowed her eyes before returning her gaze to her paternal figure. "But, it's not that…"

"Then, what made you wait to come here?" her guardian asked.

The woman bit her lip. "I…" she trailed off.

The man stepped through the door of the cage and wrapped his arms around his adoptive daughter. "It's alright. I'm just glad you're safe, _asfoora_."

Minaj didn't know what to do with her hands. Hesitantly, she returned the embrace and rested her head on his towering shoulder.

After a few moments, she pulled away and looked at her paternal figure. "We still need to get out of here," she noted.

"Ah, r-right," her guardian agreed.

The three then set off down the hall at a running pace. The exit from the cell block was much less eventful than the duo's entrance; however, Minaj's father couldn't keep himself from gawking concernedly at the countless unconscious guards littering the stairwell and corridors.

When the trio burst out of the main doors into the building, they were greeted by a massive battalion of officials, all in a uniform filing with pistols at the ready.

"I tally their aggregate to be seventy-two soldiers strong, Miss Goh," Whit enumerated.

Minaj let out a deep breath. "Okay, kid gloves are off," she muttered before reaching into her sword bag and producing a wooden bat. The calm woman leveled the bludgeon across her shoulders before dashing toward the crowd.

As the man leading the pack fired his gun, the rest of the guards readied their weapons. Minaj preemptively rolled away from the bullet and sprinted to close the distance. Her bat met the face of one of the prepared guards before he could so much as blink. The woman slipped into the arrangement of officials to agitate the men and create a pocket in the middle of their filing. The mob advancing on Minaj didn't appear to disconcert her as she rolled forward and took down one trio of guards with a downward swing of her weapon and another with a side swing following a butterfly kick. As the crowd began to thin and her opponents closed in on her with little other distraction, Minaj waited until the guards were practically on top of her before whipping the bat around her upper body like a pair of nunchucks. The unique motion of her bludgeon briefly confused the officials surrounding the woman and gave her enough time to use the attack to incapacitate the rest of the swarm.

Attempting to catch her breath, Minaj turned her eyes to a single figure standing between her group and the exit. It was a Japanese woman, probably in her mid-twenties, with flowing white hair adorned by a midnight-blue headband that extended past a dark blue, beaded necklace. Her locks fell past the shoulders of a black kimono with bluish-white, snowlike accents and a similarly colored bow around her abdomen. The lady's garb and raised wooden sandals were noticeably unfit for the consistently tropical air of Singapore, but what surprised Minaj most as she approached was that, among the fancily-dressed woman's pale, doll-like features, her eyes were shut.

"Hmph, easy," Minaj mumbled as she raised her bat in preparation to strike.

As if in response to the sound of an approaching threat, the woman's eyes opened, revealing startlingly deep, indigo irises. The elegantly-garbed woman opened a white fan with an authoritative snap. The image of a crimson dragon burned across the fan's stark surface before the lady directed it toward the approaching woman. "Execute her," she whispered drowsily.

"Miss Goh, advance with caution!" Whit warned from his spot closer to the cell block. "She is in possession of a—!"

In a whirlwind of ice and snow, a small, impish creature apparated in front of the maiden. The ghostly being looked like a snowman with frosty, round hands and a zigzag-patterned, monochrome cloak with horns extending from its head to its lower torso. It didn't have a mouth, but its red eyes revealed a smile behind a black masquerade mask. The dark blue beads around its neck, matching those of the woman behind it, glinted before the creature exhaled. Its chilly breath created a three-meter tall, meter-wide wall of ice, which came sliding toward Minaj. A sound akin to a sword being drawn accompanied the panel's approach.

Minaj rolled to the side, out of the way of the advancing barrier. She looked between the wall, shattering behind her, and the impish snowman. "The fuck is that…?" Minaj wondered with a tweaked frown. Whit's eyes were blown wide.

"Hm. Most don't react fast enough to evade that," the wintry maiden observed. As she rubbed her eye with her free hand, she cast her gaze to the downed battalion of guards past the intruder's shoulder. "Oh, you took out almost every guard here. You really must be quite the fighter."

"'Almost every'… So, that'd make you the last one, yeah?" the bat-wielding woman asked.

"Well, I wouldn't say that," the narcoleptic woman corrected. "I was only visiting this area to examine the regime of their police force. When I heard word that a convicted murderer would be attempting to break out, with the assistance of another killer, well, I couldn't just sit idly by. I had expected the getaway to happen within that week, but apparently I was mistaken."

"So, you're the one that got the tip?" interrogated Minaj, lowering into a wide stance. "Does that mean you're in cahoots with Dio?"

"Ooh, are you a fan of heavy metal, too?" wondered the maiden, her face lighting up in serene excitement. "I think their music's entertaining, but I don't think being a fan means actively working with them…" She tilted her head at the bat-wielding woman's obvious confusion. "Is that not who you were referring to?"

 _Her eyes didn't do the glinting thing Kiki mentioned…_ Minaj thought. _I guess she doesn't serve him, but if that's the case…_

"Just who _are_ you, then?" the battle-ready woman pressed.

The snowy lady appeared to zone out for a few moments before replying, "Well, I'd say you've earned the right to know. My name is Fuyumi Oshiro, but you may call me Fuyumi."

 _Where have I heard that name before…?_ Minaj thought.

"Now, if you aren't alright with standing down and surrendering," she offered as she shut her patterned fan and pointed it at Minaj, "you can contend with the power of my Stand, Under Ice."

The athletic woman groaned. " _Another_ Stand user? Who _isn't_ a Stand user at this point? I thought you were gonna say you were some mythological creature of legend or something cool like that," she demanded. With a sigh, she added, "Shame that you're so set on punishing me, though. I would've asked you on a date." Fuyumi tilted her head with a confused expression. "Yeah, guess you aren't into it, either. Anyway, just promise you won't get mad when you lose, alright?"

"Hmm hmm hmm hmm," Fuyumi giggled. The corners of her mouth tilted into a mysterious smile as she mused, "I wonder how long that confidence will last…"

Minaj cast one last glance to her uneasy paternal figure. She turned her gaze to Whit and nodded. The blond man nodded back before getting her guardian's attention and murmuring something to him. With a deep breath, Minaj turned back and broke into a sprint toward Fuyumi. The wintry woman created a three-meter-wide panel of ice and glided it across the ground towards her opponent. Minaj took a forward roll and barely dodged the corner of the wall. As she looked up, the agile girl saw a second wall sliding toward her. Minaj flipped back and narrowly sidestepped the ice partition. From the side, she could see that the Standmade projectiles were quite thin; however, the speed with which they moved and the sounds they made while cutting through the air made them seem to have more force than their size would suggest.

 _Maybe they're just stronger than they look…_ she thought. _They're just ice, though, how strong can they be?_ Through two more three-meter-wide ice walls, Minaj could see Fuyumi's face had loosened into a calm focus. She almost appeared disinterested.

As the next frozen barrier approached, Minaj observed the space between the third and fourth walls now coming toward her. After bagging her bat and slipping between the two barricades, the spry woman took a running leap toward the fourth ice wall. Using that partition as leverage, she sprang off the wall with her right hand and foot. Fighting a wince brought on by the chilling bite of the ice, Minaj planted her left hand and foot on the third wall and wall-jumped from the barrier over the fourth partition. She was almost close enough to strike the fancily-clad woman.

The corner of Fuyumi's mouth twitched upward before Under Ice created another meter-wide wall right in front of its user. The barrier slid toward the airborne Minaj. With no time to unsheathe her bat, the Standless brawler aimed a high kick at the wall. She was surprised by the ease at which it shattered under the weight of her foot; however, she was briefly concerned by the clamminess in her hands that was now sinking into her feet.

Nevertheless, Minaj refused to be distracted from her target. She threw a left hook toward Fuyumi's jaw. The proper lady nimbly ducked under the punch and used her closed fan to lift up her opponent's right leg by the knee. With her adversary left open, Fuyumi hopped closer and kicked the back of Minaj's left knee. The Standless woman collapsed stomach-first onto the ground.

Fuyumi tapped her chin gently with her weapon of choice. "I was hoping it would be a longer fight…" she murmured.

"Well, good," Minaj replied. "Cuz it ain't over yet."

Before Fuyumi could register confusion, Minaj pushed herself up with her arms and spun her legs in a windmill along the ground. The frigid femme stepped back to keep from getting swept off her feet, but her opponent transitioned into a headspin and kicked Fuyumi in the face with her spread legs. As the breakdancing girl stopped spinning and jumped to her feet, she cast her gaze to her cold opponent. Fuyumi's face was thunderstruck as a trickle of blood slipped down her cut-open cheek. The elegant woman caught the droplet with her fingertips and examined the scarlet smear. Her wide eyes drifted from the blood staining her fingers to her formerly-collapsed adversary. The stoic maiden's mouth stretched into an electrified smile.

"You are _quite_ the people pleaser, aren't you, Minaj?" Fuyumi inquired.

"What can I say? Good fights fire me up, so I might as well return the favor," Minaj explained as she removed her bat. "With how rare those fights can be, though, you've been a _real_ treat."

"Then, shall we continue?" the frosty woman offered as she brandished her fan once more.

"Ladies first," Minaj countered.

Fighting the chill in her limbs, the sporty woman kept her body loose in preparation for her rival's attacks. Using her bat, Minaj parried a jab from Fuyumi's fan before flipping her bludgeon into the elegant woman's chin. The tomboyish woman readied a punch, but she realized she needed to block Fuyumi's next jab. The frigid femme loudly snapped her fan open. In the split second where Minaj's eyes were drawn to the blazing dragon, Fuyumi struck a matching blow to her rival's chin with her foot. The two continued to evade and deal out blows. As they slowly, involuntarily neared the wall of the prison, they were locked in a distinctive dance of fighting styles as they pushed and pulled, ebbed and flowed, countered and struck.

Eventually, Minaj predicted an evasive maneuver Fuyumi would take and managed to counter her attempts to dodge with a bat-based jab to her stomach. Despite nearly doubling over, the wintry woman smirked. She summoned her Stand and hopped off the ground. An ice platform solidified under her feet and raised Fuyumi to safety on top of the wall.

"Playing hard to get, huh?" Minaj asked no one in particular. After putting her bat away and rubbing her frigid hands together, the tomboy began to scale the brick wall using what few handholds she could find. Hearing that familiar ringing sound coming from below her, Minaj looked down to see another icy panel rapidly ascending from below. "No, no, no—!" she actively denied before she was plastered to the surface of the panel by the speed at which it was rising.

The glassy platform abruptly halted as it reached the top of the brick barrier. Minaj was sent flying a few meters into the air before beginning to fall back down. Left in shock, the airborne woman was completely caught off guard by Fuyumi's advancing, grabbing Minaj by the collar of her top, and slamming her into the walkway atop the wall. The tomboyish woman dislodged her rival's grip and swept her legs in a circle underneath her. As Fuyumi fell to the bricks, Minaj stood up and took a few steps back.

"Guess you wanted a room with a view?" Minaj asked as she cast a glance out over the cityscape extending into the horizon. Fuyumi cocked her head. "Well, it won't help ya win, I'll tell ya that."

The two resumed their exchange of blows. Minaj followed up with the technique she'd learned before: waiting for Fuyumi to duck under a swing of her bat before throwing an uppercut into her chin. This time, however, the frigid femme blocked with her fan. Minaj's attack had been parried, but Fuyumi's hand recoiled from the hit and left her wide open.

"Heh, this fight's over!" the bat-wielding woman boasted as her weapon lurched for her opponent's skull.

Fuyumi smiled. A rectangle of ice solidified behind her. Cracks spiderwebbed across the glassy surface and broke down the barrier. The icy shards shot past the Stand user. Caught off guard, Minaj stopped midswing and rolled out of the way of the advancing crystals. Thinking she was safe, the bat-wielding woman looked back. She didn't have time to react to the still-soaring shards cutting into her body. Minaj staggered back towards the edge of the wall. Landing on her stomach with a grunt, the woman couldn't stop her bat from slipping from her hands. The wooden bludgeon rolled a short way along the brick surface before falling to the ground far below.

Minaj couldn't feel her fingers or toes. She felt as though ice were crawling up her body from her limbs. Every blood vessel and bone was slowly being cast into an endless winter. She felt no warmth, even with the sun shining brightly overhead like a sick taunt. There was only the chill.

She heard the clacking sound of wood against brick slowly come closer. "H-H-H…ow…?" Minaj croaked behind her.

Fuyumi's gaze softened. "You backed me into a corner, but I ended up forgetting that you don't have a Stand. That's my mistake." The elegant woman tapped her chin with her closed fan. "If I had to explain, I guess I would say I can only turn my walls into shards if my opponent is right on top of me. You felt cold after touching my ice, right?" Minaj shakily nodded. "The shards chase after those affected areas. Kind of like homing missiles, if I had to make an analogy."

"…W-Well, are you g-gonna k-k-kill me? C-C-Capture me?" Minaj stuttered from the chill. She tried to pull herself away from her opponent using her elbows and knees, but her joints weakened by the second.

Fuyumi was silent for a few moments. Her eyes were glassy as if she were lost in thought. However, she spoke up with a contemplative-sounding question: "Was the tip I received false…?"

"H-Huh…?" the collapsed, freezing woman asked.

"I couldn't tell at first, but now…" Fuyumi's dark eyes were oddly sympathetic as she murmured, "I don't think you're a murderer."

"I-I-I'll tell y-you one th-thing, Fu-Fu-Fuyumi," Minaj began with an unstable smirk. "M-My Pap and I, w-w-we're a lot of th-th-things…b-b-but murderers ain't o-one of them."

"I implore you, Miss Goh; descend from the rampart! Your paternal figure and I accompanied your movements, and we now linger together just beneath you!" an elegant, masculine voice called up from the white roof of the entrance building.

"S-S-See ya," the fallen woman bade before pulling herself just far enough over the wall's edge to fall toward the roof of the white building.

Whit teleported beneath Minaj and caught her. "The operation has been ruled a triumph, and my analysis of recent circumstances has led me to conclude that the examinee—that would be you, Miss Goh, on the off chance I have heretofore been anything short of transparent in my intentions—has received a passing grade," the blond man reported.

"Y-Yay…" Minaj cheered weakly.

"Allow us to commence with the departure," Whit commanded.

With that, the blond man hopped off the roof onto a stack of boxes he had amassed as a support. Minaj's guardian followed closely behind at a careful pace while sending concerned glances his adopted daughter's way.

"Officer Oshiro!" one of the guards addressed as he approached the wintry woman. He stood straight and saluted as he informed, "Once our forces recover, we can pursue them at your orders!"

"That's unnecessary."

"H-Huh? But, ma'am, wasn't one of the escapees a murderer?" the official asked.

"A simple character analysis reveals that neither of them has the capacity to murder," Fuyumi sighed as she replaced her fan in the back of her obi. "I will discuss this further with the warden, but I believe there is no need to try to capture them."

"A-Alright, well, if your track record is anything to go by, you've never failed to convict a guilty criminal before, so they must be innocent," the guard concluded.

Fuyumi nodded as she gazed outward over the city. Her eyes focused on the retreating trio in the distance. _Minaj Goh… I'll remember you well._

* * *

"Miss Goh, are you certain you have healed well enough after your encounter?" Whit asked from the area just outside the dressing stalls.

"I told ya, Houdini, I'm _fine_! That was two days ago, remember?" the chipper woman enthused from behind the curtain. "Hey, uh, am _I_ supposed to wear this tie?" A bit of shuffling of cloth was heard before she mumbled to herself, "I guess it _could_ be used for something kinky…"

"Minaj, dear, I think _I'm_ supposed to wear that," her paternal figure suggested from the neighboring stall.

"Oh, that would make _much_ more sense!" Minaj agreed. "Heads up!" she warned as she tossed the angular fabric over the partition to her guardian.

"I could perhaps be materializing suppositions in this state of affairs, but were you not of a much more mellow nature than you seem to be at this point in time?" the blond attendant asked.

"Uh, nooooooo?" Minaj denied. "If anything, your doom and gloom is making it _seem_ like there's a bigger contrast! I coulda just been havin' a bad day, y'know?"

"Uh, Mr. Houston, is this…a collar?" Minaj's paternal figure wondered from his stall.

"Oh, that's probably mine! Toss it over!" the woman coaxed.

"But…it's so pointy! What if I poke your eye out?"

"Pap, c'mon, nothing's stopped me before! Not even that!"

"I'm not throwing it over if there's a chance of you getting hurt!"

"Ugh, _fine_ , just give it to me when you get out," Minaj conceded as she drew back the curtain to step out of the stall.

The woman with a new hairstyle—consisting of a boyish shortness and pink dye—examined her outfit. She wore a denim vest and grey tank top, accented by a pair of black denim shorts with several rips and a leather, studded belt hanging at a diagonal loosely through the loops. She admired the novelty of her recently-acquired metal bat, whose dark color contrasted the glint of light reflecting from its surface. After bagging the bludgeon, her primrose lips quirked up as she noticed Whit's examining her. "Like what ya see?" crooned the woman, fluttering her eyelashes.

"You have chosen quite a unique styling for your apparel, Miss Goh. I do believe the saying is…'It is very you,'" Whit praised.

"Y'know that's not what I meant…" Minaj lamented with a pout as her shoulders slumped dramatically. "Hey, but, uh, on a smaller note:" the woman began. Looking left and right, she scanned for any listening ears before leaning closer to the man and asking, "when exactly will I be getting back to looking like my old self?"

Whit blinked. "I recollect that I had already explicated the process of Stand Transplant implementation on the plane ride to this location within Egypt?"

"Your 'explication' ended up putting me to sleep, Houdini. That ain't my fault."

Whit blinked again. "In the aforementioned explication, I recall describing the side effects of Stand Transplants as well as any remaining ambiguities."

"Get to the _point_ , Houdini."

Whit blinked yet again. "These side effects are irreversible, Miss Goh."

"Hu-whaaaaaaaaaa?!" she cried. Her hands clenched at her locks as her eyes widened. "You mean I'm that much closer to being a thirty-year-old because of some stupid plastic surgery?! Oh, shit, well if Dio wasn't gonna pay before, he's _gonna_ pay now!"

"Miss Goh, _please_ —"

"Mr. Houston?" Minaj's guardian called from his stall. "Ar-Are you _sure_ this is what you want me to wear?"

"I found it to be the disguise of most inconspicuousness. There shall be nary a problem with concealing yourself within this garb," Whit assured. "These clothes also have already been exchanged for payment, so I would hesitate to pose requests for a differing variety."

"O-Okay, then…" the man surrendered. He walked out of the stall a moment later.

Whit had chosen a spangled ringleader outfit for the escapee, complete with a bright red tie knotted into a bow and a gold-accented top hat. The guardian's new blue locks poked out slightly from underneath the headgear. The only unfitting object to the ensemble was his red, feather-adorned scarf that he wore under his shirt collar.

He passed the black, spiked collar to his other hand and scratched the back of his neck through his satin gloves. "This doesn't seem at all fitting, Mr. Houston," the man sighed, "and not just because of my physique."

"No way, Pap! Ya look great!" Minaj complimented before snatching the collar from his grip.

"Now, then, for this disguising ritual to be completed in full, the two of you must decide upon pristine monikers for yourselves," Whit advised. Minaj appeared to slingshot into deep thought at this request.

"Oh, really?" Mr. Goh wondered. He appeared to think for several moments before shaking his head. "I can't exactly think of anything on the spot." He looked to Minaj. "Maybe you could come up with something?"

"Got it!" the woman announced. She pointed to her guardian. "You'll be 'Dylan'!" She pointed to herself. "And I'll be…'Mina Nocturn'!" She flourished her hands in a dramatic gesture.

"So, does that make me 'Dylan Nocturn'?" her paternal figure asked. Mina nodded. "Then, I guess I'm Dylan Nocturn."

"Excellent. Shall we depart for the airport, then?" Whit suggested.

"Off we go, we go!" Mina cheered as she rushed out the door of the tailor's into the Aswan sunlight.

Whit and Dylan followed shortly after her. They approached the woman, who expectantly eyed the driver's seat of the blue Jeep the blond bellhop had procured. "You are in possession of a license gifted upon a skilled driver, are you not?" Mina nodded vigorously in reply to Whit's question. "You may appropriate the steering mechanism."

"Yes! Yeh-heh-heh-hes!" Mina hooted as she jumped through the open window on the driver's door into the car. "I have unlimited _powah_!" the woman cackled as she wiggled her fingers.

"Was this an incorrect choice?" Whit wondered aloud.

"Nah, she's a good driver. Letting her take the wheel just gets to her head easily," Dylan reassured.

Just as the parental figure had assured, the woman's driving abilities were near flawless; she always kept her eyes on the road, she kept her speed to a reasonable amount, and she even checked her rearview mirrors for potential hazards. Not that the last criteria was necessary, considering they were just driving through the empty desert, but it was a good precaution to take.

The trio bantered and clarified previous explanations on the way to Dylan's flight. The guardian was well aware of Mina's plans to assist Suki and her friends as much as she could, while Dylan would venture to a location far away from Dio's influence.

"I ultimately decided on Italy," Mr. Nocturn shared. "It's such an elegant country, you know what I mean?"

"With how often you fawn over it, I'd be surprised if I didn't," Mina replied with a chuckle.

The three eventually reached the bag check, where they would part ways with Dylan. As the man set his bag of supplies down, he turned to Whit with a grateful expression. "Thank you for all your help, Mr. Houston. And, thank you for looking out for my girl," he said warmly.

"I would ask that you restrain your appreciation for my actions until these conditions have reverted to a state which is more serene in nature," Whit replied.

With a slightly confused nod, Dylan turned to Mina. The woman looked at Whit over the larger man's shoulder and nodded to the side. The blond man's eerie grin slightly twitched down before he turned and strolled farther away.

"So…this is it," Dylan started.

"Yeah, I guess so," Mina affirmed with a shrug. A moment passed. Then, the woman started, "Listen, Pap, I'm sorry it—"

"There's nothing to apologize for," her guardian reassured. Mina gave a somewhat shaky grin before looking to the side. She appeared to be mulling over something. "You know," Dylan began. Mina's attention turned back to the man as his smile grew wistful, "your mom, she loved traveling so much. She was always buzzing around to different countries, different cities. She could never stay tied down to one place for long. It just wasn't in her nature. She was always independent, even as a kid."

"Pap…" Mina trailed off.

"I don't know what you're wantin' to do with your life, but… I want you to know that I'll support you no matter what you choose. You can travel the world; you can stay in one place; you can do whatever you want because, Minaj," confided Dylan, taking her cheeks in his hands, "you are so kind, and smart, and beautiful. Nothing can stand in your way, because _you_ are _amazing_." Tears began to spill down Dylan's cheeks. Even so, he smiled. The man reached back and untied the scarf around his neck. He held it out to the woman. "So, go out there and do whatever you want. Just let me know what you're up to from time to time, okay? You know how I worry."

Mina sniffled as she placed her hand over his. She grasped the fabric in her palm. "P-Pap…" she started. Her smile was wistful as she said, "I love you, Pap. Thank you… for everything."

Dylan embraced the woman he'd raised as his own daughter. She hugged him back and let her tears dry into his gaudy suit. Mina just let her father's warmth seep into her skin one more time; the feeling washed away any leftover chill that could have remained.

Several moments passed before Mina finally let go and stepped away from her guardian. "Now, you've got a flight to catch," she reminded.

Dylan nodded. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the woman's forehead. He murmured " _asfoora_ " against her skin before pulling back with a tearful smile. Mina's eyes were wide as Dylan picked up his bag, nodded to Whit, and walked forward into line for the bag check. The woman took a deep breath before she looked down at the red cloth in her hands. The two white feathers poking out tickled her skin as she ran her fingertips over them. With a deep breath, she bowed her head and tied the scarf into her hair.

She watched her paternal figure slowly move through the line. She watched him remove his shoes and have his bag examined. She watched him take up his luggage and give one final wave goodbye. When he saw the woman wearing his accessory, Dylan put a hand over his heart and tried to hold back any more tears. He then gave Mina a thumbs up before continuing onward.

Mina didn't move until she watched Dylan's plane take off. She wasn't sure how much time had passed.

"Shall we absent ourselves, Miss Goh?" Whit asked. His question broke Mina out of whatever thoughts had been traveling through her mind.

She smirked with renewed determination. "Hell yeah, let's go."

The two talked business as they exited. Whit finally concluded his explanation at the door to Mina's borrowed vehicle with, "I will certainly contact you within a short amount of time in preparation for the arrival of Miss Kanao and her entourage. Then, you may advance to a coordinate within the vicinity of where I predict they will be recuperating. Do you understand my exposition?"

"See, I _got_ it that time," Mina bragged as she climbed into the car and turned the key in the ignition.

"Are you absolutely certain?"

Mina paused. "I'm su—"

"I do not have faith that you are 'sure.'"

"Well, you'll give me another fuckin' explanation once you come back whether I need it or not, right?" she complained.

"I perceive that our thoughts are in alignment, Miss Goh. In addition," he segued while removing an object wrapped in a white cloth. "I do believe it would be best if you contained this upon your personage," he suggested as he held the concealed item out to Mina.

Mina took the offering with a sigh. "It's 'Miss Nocturn' now, y'know?" she corrected.

"Ah, indeed, 'twas a miscalculation on the part of myself. I apologize deeply."

"I can never tell if you even take _yourself_ seriously," Mina lamented with a roll of her eyes. "But, you're headed to that place… in Portugal?" Whit shook his head. "Pakistan?" Whit nodded. "You said it was kinda near… Karambit?" Whit shook his head. "…Karate?" Whit shook his head. "It was Karaoke." Whit shook his head. "Well, then what the fuck _was_ it, Whit?" Mina interrogated with a pout.

"I remember myself saying it was near _Karachi_ , Miss Goh," Whit amended.

"Will you ever stop referring to me as 'Miss Goh'?"

"Will you at any point cease referring to my person as 'Houdini'?"

"…Fair enough," Mina conceded.

"Well, if you will excuse me, Miss Goh," Whit dismissed, "I have a buffoonish retainer of Dio to suck up to."

"Don't have _too_ much fun with that, now."

"I am unwilling to contract anything at this moment in time," Whit asserted before turning away from the vehicle and walking toward the airport.

"Hey, Houdini!" Mina called. The blond attendant turned toward her. "Uh, thanks… for what you did, I guess." Whit tilted his head. "For the Stand Transplant removal, and uh… helping me with my Pap…" Whit blinked. "Just, uh, you really helped, and uh…" Mina cut herself off with a groan. "Come on, help a girl out! I ain't good at this kind of thing!"

The blond man chuckled. "As I stated to your paternal figure, I advise you to confine your gratitude until this situation is terminated," he suggested.

Mina rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine," she allowed, "keep your tough guy act going. I'm sure it'll convince everyone else." Whit pursed his lips. The woman smiled innocently. "I'm just _kidding_."

Whit huffed out a small laugh. "I would certainly hope so."

With that, the man departed. Curious, Mina opened the cloth wrapping to reveal the cleaned Stand Transplant that had been removed from her body, alongside a small note which read, "Limited to last-resort use, and no other." _This is…_ Mina turned back to where Whit had departed with a sentence on her lips, but he was gone. She couldn't see him through the glass doors. So, she simply shrugged, shifted gears, and turned the car around. After a few moments of thought, her toothy grin glinted in the Egyptian sun as she drove over dunes and into valleys to return to Aswan.

 _Hang on, Kiki,_ she thought, _it won't be much longer! I'll help you through this, no matter what!_

* * *

Freedom

-END-

|To Be Continued|\|/

* * *

 **Asfoora = term of endearment, means "bird"**

 **I hope to not keep you guys waiting this long for the content to come! I at least plan on posting the next chapter of Season 2 a week from today, so I hope you guys tune in for that! Thanks for the read, you're the reason I keep writing! -** **BlueBow**


	4. I Have Nothing - The Second Whit Oneshot

**WARNING: This story contains instances of graphic violence, gore, coarse language, and sexual content. A warning will exist at the beginning of a chapter containing anything explicit, and will be sectioned off by another warning right beforehand, and another line right where the explicit scene ends. You have been warned.**

* * *

"I request that you possess the morality to remain within correspondence," Whit called behind him as he exited the aircraft parked on familiar Egyptian soil.

"Y-You're not gonna kill me?" the gangly pilot asked.

The blond swathed in white gave a threatening look over his shoulder. "Do you doubt my capacity to?" he asked.

"Uh," the pilot scratched his black rat's nest of hair under his clean cap, "no?"

"Excellent. I believe we will be able to cooperate in this endeavor until the time in which I will no longer require your services," the upright gentleman promised as he descended the stairs to the sandy ground underneath.

"Does he not have the guts to…?" the unkempt pilot muttered under his breath as soon as he thought Brando was out of earshot.

To the pilot's shock, the blond turned around. "Did you possess another query to pose to me?"

"N-No, no! Nothing of the sort! Uh," the scrawny man stuttered, "yeah, let's keep in touch."

Whit turned and began to make his way back to Café Sinatra from the Almaza Air Base. Each calculated, quiet footstep was taken without a thought on the blond's part. As he silently strode back to his group's base of operations, his mind wandered. _Mr. Wilson is more than capable of attending to Miss Kanao. According to Miss Lyn's testimony, the majority of the Stand users the woman will be proceeding with boast less-than-extravagant abilities. Even so…_

Whit let his gaze drift to the sea of stars washing across the shadowy night above. Venturing through the sleepy streets, Whit could distinguish just how radiant the stellar bodies were in comparison to images Lyn had shown him. The watercolor wash of the dusty nebulae and the stars that winked prominently threatened to drag Whit into an unfamiliar vortex of dreams. He blinked, and he remembered that he had not left the ground; he was still bound to Earth.

 _The Joestars,_ Whit mused with a curious smile, _if Dio's statements and reactions, in addition to the information acquired by Miss Lyn, are to be regarded as utterly truthful, their bloodline has gifted him with much in the modus operandi of trauma. Jotaro Kujo and Joseph Joestar must be unconceivably erudite in order to have discovered the resting place of Dio._

Whit fixed his gaze onto the urban night streets ahead. _I shall act as much as I am able in the pursuit of dethroning Dio,_ he thought. _I have already prepared my disposal for utilizing the Stand of Mr. Hahn as a Stand Transplant; however, I would be dissimulating to my own person if I did not confess that I had a moderate morsel of curiosity for spectating upon the Joestars' success. Such would depend on whether our scheme with Miss Lyn would become enacted without a hitch—_

"…elp…" Whit stopped short upon hearing a familiar voice weakly call out to him from the alley to his right.

 _That sounded akin to—_

"Please…" Lyn's voice echoed off the brick walls into Whit's ears.

 _She resonates as though she is agonized,_ Whit thought.

"Someone, please…help me…!" the redhead cried hoarsely.

Whit's eyes panned across the abandoned streets multiple times before settling upon the looming, dark entrance that beckoned him closer, as if it wished to swallow him. _Miss Lyn is not the sort of individual to requisition assistance of just any mortal…_ the blond man pondered skeptically. _This may indeed be what is colloquially referred to as a "trap." Despite the possible impending danger, I must advance and cease the efforts of this character before they commence an assault upon any of the other members of the resistance._ With a deep breath, Whit kept himself guarded as he ventured into the inky passageway.

As he crept closer toward the groaning voice of his comrade, Whit noticed that there was an unusual distortion to the sound; Lyn's voice dipped and peaked in pitch, and the only four words in her vocabulary at that point were _somebody_ , _please_ , _help_ , and _me_. Whit could only deduce that either Lyn had been practicing some sort of script, word for word and tone for tone, or something was very, very wrong.

Upon turning the corner into an alley that opened up into a slightly wider dead end, Whit finally discovered the source of the noise: a small, rectangular device with several buttons on one short side and a speaker on the other. The machine was held in a hand, which was tightly squeezed by a black leather glove. The gloved hand's complement reached up and pressed a button on the device. The instrument abruptly fell silent. Forcing himself to ignore the smell wafting from the nearby dumpster and gutter pipes, Whit carefully examined the individual in front of him as an uneasy breeze howled through the hollow pathway.

The build of the glove-wearing newcomer was slim and somewhat delicate but definitely male. The man's identifying features were all hidden behind his outfit, which consisted of gloves, black combat boots, and a matching spandex bodysuit that covered his figure from head to toe. Whit would have been able to identify the man's face if not for the uncanny, white clay mask he wore. The strange veil was most akin to the anatomy of an opossum's skull, and it seemed to additionally function as a gas mask—if the man's subtle warped breaths were any indication.

"Do you believe yourself to be clever?" Whit wondered as he attempted to inconspicuously identify the shady individual's eyes. Unfortunately, the eyeholes for the mask were opaque from the blond's perspective. "You conclude that you contain the ability to restrain or annihilate me?"

The masked man didn't respond with words; however, his unsheathing and brandishing of a serrated, yellow-hilted knife from his boot told Whit everything he needed to know.

"I will caution you, sir," Whit began as he folded his arms, "as you likely intend to ambush those I would call companions, I will _not_ be holding back."

Seemingly impatient with the chatter, the strange man lunged forward with his knife. Whit prepared to use Look to You, but the assailant threw his weapon into the air a mere second before it would have struck. The airborne blade pulled the blond's gaze upward for a brief moment, but despite this diversion, Whit noticed the attacker's pivot in his peripheral vision. The mysterious man's rotation revealed his previously-hidden, hairless tail. The prehensile appendage's sharpened end shot at Whit's chest.

 _A tail?!_ Whit thought in a panic. He teleported into the air above his attacker and caught the spinning blade by the handle. Focusing on his opponent's newly-visible appendage, the airborne gentleman noticed that the tail wasn't completely opaque. _Is this his Stand?_ he wondered about the semitransparent limb.

The stranger's needle-like tail gave Whit no time to ponder before streaking upwards at him. Gritting his teeth, the ivory-clothed man warped in front of his attacker and brandished his recently acquired weapon. The aggressor gave Whit no quarter, however, as his tail swiftly coiled around the naïve man's foot and yanked Whit off his feet. The blond landed on the ground back-first. The masked stranger loomed over his target and pulled a second knife, one with a black hilt, from his other boot.

 _How does one man have such jurisdiction over a protuberance that he should not even possess?_ Whit pondered. _Although, if one were to be technical with this issue, I do believe that, as descendants of primates, perhaps dominance over such a part—_ Whit's trivial thoughts were silenced by a thrust of his opponent's knife. The blond teleported the two of them onto the rim of the dumpster. While the metal border dug into Whit's otherwise balanced back, the assailant fell groin-first from his wide stance onto the rim. Whether the stranger was surprised by the lack of support underfoot or the searing stab of pain to his weak point, his tail's grip on Whit's foot loosened slightly. The blond kicked his attacker into the half-full trash container and—now freed from the tail's grip—teleported to the rooftop nearest the dumpster.

Whit only took one second to take a steadying breath before running across the rooftop. As he passed a large, neon-green sign that almost blinded him, he recalled the tool Lyn had given him a few days prior for emergencies. He instinctively patted at his inner shirt pocket to ensure the cylindrical object was still therein. _How shall I utilize this, though?_ he wondered as he slowed his pace to keep the assailant on his tail. His eyebrows raised as he noticed a structure looming atop a higher building in the distance. _Could I—?_

The fleeing blond was torn from his scheming as he heard the sound of metal creaking behind him. The masked stranger scaled the alley's metal pipes to the rooftop on which Whit stood. Feigning desperation, the blond continued to rush across the rooftops. The approaching footsteps grew closer with every stride Whit made. When the calculating blond was certain his attacker was right on top of him—so close he could hear the man's twisted breaths whistling through his ears—Whit about-faced and roundhouse-kicked his pursuer in the torso. The black-clad man was sent careening toward a dull green water tower on the same rooftop before steadying himself and dashing toward his target in one fluid motion.

As the shadowy hitman flourished his matching blade, Whit readied his stolen knife. The assassin thrust his weapon toward his prey, but Whit dodged. The blond swiped his own knife at his assailant's throat, but the black-clad man ducked before the attack came close. Anticipating another thrust from his attacker, Whit readied his blade in a defensive position just as the tip of the other man's knife came lunging forward. Their blades locked with a harsh scraping sound. The stranger rotated out of this stalemate, but Whit strafed to his opponent's front to prevent the use of the tail-bearer's phantasmal appendage. His attacker twist to the other side, but the blond strafed again while parrying another blow from his opponent.

Frustrated, the assailant withdrew his assault and ducked under a heavy swing of Whit's blade. Having intended to overpower his opponent's parry with said swing, Whit stumbled forward under the force of his uncharacteristically clumsy attack. With his knife poised to strike, the assassin stabbed upward, but his blade only met empty air as the blond tumbled forward and grabbed his opponent by the back of his bodysuit. With a grunt, Whit tossed his attacker off the side of the roof. The gentleman's attempt to use gravity to his advantage failed, however, as the hitman's tail caught the gutter just under the roof's rim. Whit had achieved his true goal, however, of buying himself time to approach the water tower.

The blond man grimaced as he came within a few steps of the storage structure. _I do not enjoy this, but draconian periods require an equivalent level of expedience._ With that thought, he summoned the goldenrod hand of his Stand over his own and gripped the support at the corner of the tower with titanic strength. As he surmised, the iron cylinder bowed toward the side of the roof under the might of his Stand.

Just as Whit poised to move to the neighboring support, his attacker reached him and swung his knife at the blond's chest. Evading the blow, the gentleman released his grip and rushed to the tower's opposite side to bend its complementary support. Whit clicked his tongue quietly as his assailant lunged toward him again. The blond dashed around the side of the structure to evade the black-clad man. The hitman darted in the other direction around the supports, but Whit didn't make the full loop. The two stared at each other through the iron framework underneath the water tower as—with stances wide—they each tried to gauge which direction the other would move around it. Whit feinted moving to the left before dashing right. The assassin became impatient and he used his tail to swing around the iron support toward the blond.

A loud creak assaulted the attacker's ears as the water tower, disturbed by pull of the assassin's tail, came falling toward the combatants. Whit teleported behind the tipping structure and summoned his Stand. That Stand only appeared for a split second as it threw a superhuman punch into the massive container. The blow sent the tower toppling violently forward into the assailant. The felled structure collapsed atop the assailant, and both were sent plunging toward the pavement below. Whit confirmed that the space where the black-clad attacker had been standing was now empty before hearing a thunderous _crash_ reverberating off the tight walls of the city streets.

 _And not a single bystander was harmed in the scuffle. If there had been other observers, surely they would not have remained silent through all of the tumult caused by our violence._ Whit mused as he approached the edge of the roof and looked down at the toppled water tower. The lid of the container had collapsed and spilt kiloliters of water across the brightly lit cobblestone. The attacker's damaged body lay unmoving next to the structure.

With a skeptical humming noise, Whit teleported to the ground and approached the broken vat and his assailant. The roof of the water tower had been smashed in such a way as to make a hole leading into the dark, metal interior, from which dripping sounds echoed as the only evidence of the container's purpose. Nearing the black-clad man, Whit saw that the stranger's tail had disappeared. The attacker lay face-down on the cobblestone with his knife still clenched in his right hand.

 _Well, I do believe it is high time to find out who this man really is,_ Whit thought as he reached for the assailant's mask.

The black-clad hitman swiped his knife at Whit's feet, but the blond leapt back before the attack could connect. As his attacker rose to his feet, the gentleman rushed into the empty water tower. The stranger followed his target inside and witnessed the dark silhouette of his target. The masked individual lunged for the blond, but he met empty air. It was only as he heard a metallic _clunk_ that the assailant realized he'd been tricked. He looked down and noticed a flashbang missing its pull ring at his feet before a head-splitting _bang_ bounced off the claustrophobic walls of the storage unit and bombarded his eardrums while a bright, white flash blinded him.

With his opponent's senses impaired, Whit pounced on the strange man from behind and sliced open his throat with the serrated knife. Blood spilled over the spandex covering the attacker's neck as he collapsed forward.

Whit stood back and waited. No matter how long the blond waited, the hitman never rose to his feet. He didn't so much as twitch. Wanting to be absolutely sure he wouldn't return, Whit carefully approached and pressed two fingers against the man's throat, just as Lyn had taught him. No heartbeat resonated in his digits.

With a small sigh, Whit used the sparse puddle of remaining water to clean his fingers. After taking one more look back to ensure his attacker was actually dead, Whit exited the container into the glowing city street.

 _I must inform Miss Lyn and the others about this happening,_ he thought. _Only those of enlightenment would be aware as to how many more assassins could be plotting the demise of myself and my comrades._

Whit only managed a few strides from the water tower before he heard a small _woosh_ sound from inside the container. The blond whipped around and caught the incoming projectile. As the gentleman spotted the masked man in the shadowy interior of the structure, he felt something sharp prick at every point of contact between himself and the projectile. Upon opening his hand, Whit saw a small, clear, spiked ball that was barely tinted pink resting in his palm.

"What was—?" he asked. All at once, Whit felt his consciousness fade. _N-No…I cannot…Not…here…_ he thought groggily as he dropped to his knees. The blond noticed the attacker approach as he collapsed forward. _I must…warn…the…o…thers…_

The assassin's wound had been sealed shut. A strange sound filtered into Whit's ears, but he couldn't place its origin. These were the last things Whit perceived before his consciousness winked out.

* * *

The blond man gained awareness of his surroundings as he woke. His eyelids brushed something pressed to his face as they fluttered open. Trying to stretch resulted in the realization that something solid was pinning his legs below him and his arms out to either side. He was suspended from the ground. The cold touch of metal reached his wrists, ankles, and neck even through the heavy fabric that was flush against every square centimeter of skin. He could barely make out the thick iron bars across from him. The man recognized the layout as the cell block under Dio's mansion.

A muffled gasp escaped Whit's lips through the cloth gagging him. He struggled against his bindings in a terrified frenzy as he huffed against the gag. Summoning his own Stand's arm to assist in breaking the shackles bore no fruit, and the herculean strength of his spirit could not even dent the metal cuffs binding him to the wall. _I am going to die. I am going to die. I cannot escape. I am going to die._

Whit only stopped struggling when he heard a familiar voice speak to his left.

"Brando, calm down…" Lyn soothed. "I'm right here; it's gonna be alright…"

The blond man slowly stilled while he steadied his breathing. As he rotated his head to the left as much as he was able, he noticed his redheaded friend had been detained in a similar manner, minus the body-hugging cloth suit. Additionally, the woman's goggles that gifted her with sight had been confiscated. _So, she had been captured…_

"I got ambushed the day before last—or, at least, it _feels_ like it's been a whole day since. Did the guy with the opossum mask get you, too?" she queried. Whit nodded as much as he could with the neck brace. "That fucker's been making quick work of us rebels, and not just us. That agent of Dio's, he matched the description Frank gave me before…he and the kids…"

Lyn sighed, "Needless to say, they got their work cut out for them, keeping us prisoner like this. I can only make a hole under something or someone if it's touching the ground. That criteria applies to me, too. There's a size limit though; I can't make a hole under this wall we're strapped to, for instance, since it's part of a much larger building. Judging by the sounds you were making as you moved, it seems like you're covered head to toe in some sort of material. It would make sense if you couldn't teleport if every bit of your skin was covered with little breathing room. Have I got that right?" Whit nodded hesitantly after a moment. "Heh, you weren't underestimating me, were you?" The man shook his head. "You're right. That isn't like you…"

The two remained suspended in silence for what felt like hours. Then, the drowsy demolitionist whispered, "I've got a plan, but I need you to listen 'til the end, okay?" Whit nodded. "Oh, right, you probably couldn't interrupt me properly anyway…

"So, the plan is this: when the guards come to take one of us, I'll make a tunnel right underneath that person. If it's me, I'll make my way to the room where they're holding our stuff. I'll nab my explosives, come back, and bust you out," Lyn explained.

 _How would she be able to maneuver without the use of her goggles?_ Whit wondered.

"I might not be able to see, but I'm not blind. I've gone through practice runs of traversing the mansion without my eyes. Going off sound alone might be difficult, but it's definitely possible, especially since I know my tunnels like the back of my hand, and those will be ushering me most of the way," the redhead responded to his unspoken question.

"Now, if _you're_ the person they unshackle first," she continued, "then we might be able to get this done a bit faster. Once you've gotten out of the cloth covering your body, you can teleport to the room where they're keeping our stuff or find the guy who has the shackles' key. They keep changing who holds onto it on a regular basis, but that schedule is kept under wraps. Come back here, bust me out, and then we can escape."

 _What if…I do not return in time?_

"If you don't return in time, then that's just how it is," Lyn accepted. "I don't think they'd kill me, though. I'm the motor keeping their Stand Transplant research going, after all. But, even if something goes wrong, well, I made my peace with this a long time ago. I don't expect you to feel the same, so I'm gonna try my hardest to come back if it ends up being me, alright?"

Whit took a long look at the woman he could barely see. She left her family, her home, her research, and who knew what else behind in order to complete this mission, to save the world, the _universe_ from being reset. The man felt ashamed that he had not heretofore followed in that same level of passion and righteousness. _I must…carry out her wish._ Whit finally nodded slowly.

"Good…" Lyn yawned, "now, get some rest. The guards will probably wake you with all the noise they make."

Despite the suffocating feeling in Whit's lungs, the blond man did as told and let his eyes fall shut. It took surprisingly little time for the exhausted prisoner to fall asleep.

* * *

Whit blinked blearily at the change in environment as he woke once more. He had been freed of his shackles, but he strangely still couldn't move his body from its compliant state on the lavish, plush bed of a dusty, candlelit master bedroom. His breath caught in his throat as he recalled this location. He still felt like he could barely breathe. His view of the room swam as he tried to comb his surroundings for any means of escape.

Tilting his head forward as much as he could, the captive blond noticed a wide mirror that reached the floor and ceiling against the wall across from him. His anxious expression stared back at him with shaken green eyes. Whit's clothes had been torn from his body, leaving only white scraps of fabric to hardly cover his figure. His scars and stitches glowed an angry red in the dimly lit room. The blond hair that he had painstakingly kept clean and straight was now disheveled and stuck out at every angle.

"Do you know who you are?" a deep voice echoed in Whit's ears. There was no mistaking to whom that baritone belonged.

"I am Whit Houston. I have no relation to you," the blond asserted as he looked around the room for the source of the voice. He saw no sign of the man he heard.

"Nonsense. Just look at you." As if on cue, Whit felt a pair of hands stroke along his body. The blond bit back a gasp before looking at himself in the mirror. The palms he felt so distinctly against his marred skin, the needle-sharp fingernails raking down his sides—nothing appeared on his body in his reflection. "You are _mine_. You belong to me."

"That is untrue—!" Whit's breath hitched as he struggled to break free of the invisible clasps chaining him down.

"Untrue? You said yourself that you were mine, and no one else's, down to every cell making up your body," the voice continued as more force accompanied the caresses of the unseeable hands.

"I belong…to _no one_ ," Whit rebuked. He grimaced as he couldn't stop his back from arching.

"You belong to no one except for me," the voice chuckled. "Do you know why?" Whit could feel a chilly breath meander over his ear as Dio's voice spoke, "Because you are destined to be me."

When Whit's eyes darted back to the mirror across from him, he saw his green eyes had been pigmented with a bloody red shade.

" _Goddammit_!"

* * *

The feminine curse woke Whit from his vivid nightmare. He turned to Lyn to see that her face had twisted in agony. Her fingernails were biting into her palms as she bit her lip so hard it began to bleed.

Upon hearing a questioning noise from Whit, Lyn turned to the blond with an anguished look. "Brando, I just heard some of Dio's lackeys talking and," she swallowed thickly before speaking in the smallest voice he'd ever heard from her, "it's…it's Brent. He's—"

The cell door creaked open as several of Dio's unremarkable, vampiric minions entered. One of them twirled the key he'd presumably used to unlock the door as he stepped over to Whit. The key-holding vampire unlocked the shackles around Whit's ankles before standing on his tiptoes to unshackle the cuffs binding the blond's arms. The prisoner was prevented from falling to the ground by the grip of another vampire's strong arm. The accompanying creatures of the night moved to restrain Whit as they relocated him to another room.

"Brando." The vampiric minions stopped as the redhead called out to the expectant blond. "I need to tell you something."

The room waited in silence.

Then, as Lyn took a deep breath, she snarled, "You are a pathetic, sorry excuse for a man."

 _Wh-What…?_

"You're a bastard, just like Dio. I don't give a singular shit about your feelings, and I never did. You were only useful to me as long as you furthered my goals. I doubt you could contribute more even if you tried. Now, get the hell out of here!" shouted the woman, whose voice broke before she promptly formed a hole under the minions' feet.

Whit didn't hear the screams of the lackeys as they all fell. The blond teleported to the bottom of the hole—a move that eliminated his momentum—and allowed the other vampires to hit the ground.

 _That was…What was…_ Whit could barely think. His legs were subconsciously carrying him to his next destination through the tunnel. His hands yanked and scratched at the cloth enveloping his body. He managed to tear off bits and pieces of the fabric at a time. He didn't seem to care that he inadvertently ripped his clothes. He just cared that he had enough skin free of the cloth to use his ability. _Everything she said…was a lie? She…She lied about…but, could she have been… Did she mean…?_

Whit reached a dead end in the tunnel. As he looked up, he saw candlelight flickering softly near the hole's exit above him. The blond man teleported to the mouth of the passage and grabbed its ledge. The stone flooring bit into his hands as he hoisted himself up. After looking about the dusty den into which he had surfaced, Whit ascertained where he was and what route he would need to take.

 _Even if…Even if she_ hates _me…_ he thought, _I must…I must…!_

Steeling his resolve, Whit sprinted through the halls. Teleporting whenever he needed to avoid detection, the blond let his muscle memory carry him until he reached the room where prisoners' belongings were typically deposited in this mansion: the storage room on the second floor. Once he arrived, he scanned every box, every bag, every corner of the room to find Lyn's possessions. He noticed something glint crimson in the candlelight out of the corner of his eye. Whit reached for the object, and his grasp closed around Lyn's goggles. Peering over the unique eyewear, the blond noticed several explosives in a knapsack he'd seen the woman carry every so often. After shouldering the bag and reclaiming his knife, Whit hurried out of the room and down the hall. The rhythm of his footsteps and the pace of his breath sustained the driven man through the exhaustion squeezing into his bones.

 _She must be alright. She must be alright. She must be alright. She—_

Whit's thoughts were interrupted as he turned the corner in the cell block. There, right in front of Lyn's cell, stood the person he had been most fearful to face. The imposing, shirtless man, even taller than Whit, turned around to face his copy. A collected, fanged grin spread across the vampire's lips as he laid eyes on the startled blond.

"Brando," Dio drawled, "so pleased you could join us."

Fighting the urge to vomit, Whit swallowed his fear and strode forward. "I shall not remain for long. I merely intended to secure my companion and promptly depart," stated the double, who cursed the sweat curling down his neck.

"Brando?" he heard Lyn's voice call. "I told you to get the fuck out of here! Why the hell are you back?!"

"I shall not be vacating the premises without you beside me," Whit asserted without faltering.

"Please, don—I mean, y-you dumbass!" she stuttered from her cell. "Don't you care about your own safety? There's no sugarcoating it; you're going to _die_! Just get the hell out of here while you can!"

"I remain loyal to my earlier bias, Miss Lyn," Whit maintained while brandishing his knife.

Dio chuckled while drawing a hand through his long, blond locks, "My, now that I look at you, it's clear to see. By some miracle, I was wrong. Wrong about _you_ , Brando."

"We shall see," Whit concluded as he broke into a run. While he prepared his blade to swipe at the vampire, he pulled a stun grenade from the knapsack, pulled its pin, and threw it into the air.

"You see, Brando," Dio started as Whit teleported behind him once the bomb left his hand, "being a leader requires many things."

Whit blinked. In the span of that picosecond, Dio held him by the back of the neck and had turned him to fully face the flashbang. _I did not utilize my Stand. I did not see Dio move. How—_ Whit's inner monologue was cut short as the stun grenade went off in front of his eyes to blind and deafen him. His hands involuntarily shot up to his ears as he tried to escape Dio's grasp.

"It requires tenacity, confidence, _discipline_ ," Dio continued as his claws dug into Whit's neck, "but, most importantly," he trailed off as he threw the smaller blond to the ground like a broken toy. Whit cried out in pain as he hit the stone floor of the cell block. Dio leaned down while keeping his grip firm on Whit, and hissed, "a lack of compassion. Without that, you will _never_ function as a leader, much less as a leader with _my_ name."

"Brand—!" Lyn's desperate cry was cut off as Whit's head was slammed into the ground and he was knocked unconscious.

* * *

When Whit next awoke, he found the other vampires from before pinning him to the floor of some sort of dingy operating room, complete with an IV drip that didn't seem to be in use. He was instantly yanked out of any drowsiness he might have had by the sounds of flesh being cut and agonized screams. Focusing on the source of the cries, the blond saw that Lyn was pressed face-down into the table, which did nothing to muffle her shrieks of pain. Her ankles and wrists were cuffed to four pillars, which looked like they had suffered the test of time and several different subjects, surrounding the table.

Whit's eyes widened as he beheld the spectacle of this impromptu surgery, or, rather, what he could see of it; a dark-haired, ponytailed man wearing scrubs and rubber gloves stood wielding a probe and scalpel in front of Lyn's presumably open neck. "Let her…" Whit started weakly. His throat was hoarse. "Let her _go_!" he croaked.

"I'll let her go when she's done," the surgeon droned as he made another incision, forcing yet another screech from the redhead. "Then, you can do whatever you want with her."

"You bastard," the blond growled as he fruitlessly struggled against the men restraining him, "let her go _now_!"

"Bran…do…" Lyn rasped. Her throat sounded raw. "I- _yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeargh_!" she bellowed. The woman heaved for air as the surgeon cleaned a sizable chunk of skin from his scalpel. "Please, pl-ease, _please_ , make it _stop_ ," Lyn sobbed. Her fingernails dug into her restrained hands and drew blood. Whit couldn't see her face, but he didn't think he would be able to function if he witnessed what expression would accompany those unhinged, desperate pleas.

"Sorry, Doc, no can do," the surgeon sighed as he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. "Stand Transplants have the greatest chance of successfully manifesting if the original user is kept conscious as long as possible before death. That's what I learned from watching you, at least."

Lyn flailed against her bonds. "You will _never_ do that to me! I refuse, I refuse, I _refuse_!" she roared.

"Two of you, hold her down," the surgeon barked to the vampires. Seeing their bewilderment, the scrub-clad man groaned, "Dio's clone only has to be held down by more than one person to neutralize his Stand's abilities, remember? He can only teleport with one guy at a time!"

The vampiric minions nodded, and two of them released their grip on Whit to assist in holding down Lyn. The redhead fought to move out of the surgeon's grasp, but the vampires' might forced her to stay stock-still. "Miss Lyn! Use Miss Surprise! Miss _Lyn_!" Whit cried as he struggled against the lackeys' inhuman strength.

"I've been poking and prodding at her brain for almost an hour now. She lost the strength to use her Stand a long time ago, buddy," the surgeon explained as he made yet another cut, forcing more tortured screams out of the redhead.

 _I…have to…_ Whit thought with a grimace. He summoned the goldenrod arm of his Stand to punch through the skull of the vampire holding his arms down. The creature of the night couldn't even voice a cry before his cranium exploded in a shower of flesh and blood. The other vampire retaliated by digging his fingers into Whit's legs. The blond felt his blood being drained for only a moment before giving his second captor the same treatment.

The surgeon cursed under his breath. He looked to the vampires holding Lyn's trembling body in place and commanded, "You two, keep him busy!" before reaching behind one of the pillars closest to him.

Whit reclaimed his knife from a nearby table and rushed at the first vampire. He stabbed the minion in the skull while he used his Stand to punch open the head of the other encroaching bloodsucker. With the lackeys out of the way, the blond turned to the surgeon, who continued to operate on Lyn as if nothing had happened. A spear rested against his shoulder as he carefully inserted a small, red gemstone into Lyn's neck. She writhed and shrieked at the foreign intrusion.

The blond man dashed toward the surgeon with his knife poised to strike. "Get your hands _off of her_!" he roared. His battle cry drowned out the woman's cries for help.

The surgeon didn't even look at the approaching threat as he reached toward the IV drip presumably used for anesthetic. A flash of light briefly blinded Whit before the dark-haired man stabbed his weapon into Whit's forearm just before the blond's blade reached his back. On closer inspection, the weapon no longer looked like an ordinary spear; rather, it looked to be some odd amalgamation of the IV drip nearby and the blade of the spear. Anesthetic solution coursed through the hybridized syringe and injected a large dose of some narcotic into Whit's body.

"Don't underestimate my Hybrid Theory," the dark-haired man stated without an ounce of remorse. Up close, Whit noticed that the surgeon's red-rimmed glasses did little to obscure the lifeless, gray eyes staring back at the blond.

Whit ripped his arm away from the blade. "You—!" he began.

Lyn's entire body rumbled as she screeched at the top of her lungs. "No, no! Make it stop! Make it _stop_!" she bawled as she threatened to rip the pillars from their foundations. "Please! _Please_! Come back! _Shoji! Shiho!_ " she shrieked," _Come…_ back!... Yuu _…_ to…" The redhead fell silent. She collapsed onto the operating table. Her limbs fell limp in their restraints. Whit couldn't hear her breathing. All he could hear was the sound of blood dripping to the floor.

"No… _no_ ," Whit denied as he approached the incapacitated redhead. "Please, Miss Lyn? You…You can't…"

The surgeon nonchalantly sidestepped as Whit turned Lyn's face toward him. Her mouth was frozen agape in terror. The veins surrounding the indents where her eyes would be were pronounced against her ghostly pale skin. The blond turned his friend over, paying no mind to the glittering red jewel that fell from her neck onto the operating table below as he pressed two fingers to her throat. She had no pulse.

"Miss Lyn, please, this can't be real," Whit babbled as tears formed in his eyes. "Miss Lyn, please, wake up. Wake up, Miss Lyn," he coaxed as he shook her lightly. With a choked sob, the blond man held the redhead close as tears spilled down his cheeks. "Lyn…" he warbled.

Whit could only manage a few more sobs before the anesthetic took over and rendered him unconscious for the third time that day.

* * *

"Do you really think this will work?" a shrill voice asked. Whit recognized the strained voice as that of Enyaba Geil, Dio's closest advisor and mentor of all Stand-related subjects.

The blond could only see the cold, dusty ceiling above him.

"We won't find anything out if we don't experiment," the voice of the surgeon argued with a dearth of enthusiasm. The gray-eyed man came into view shortly after voicing this debate. His eyebrows rose upon noticing that Whit was awake. Nevertheless, he continued, "That bright-eyed kid is proof enough that a Stand Transplant can be used without too many problems on a natural-born Stand user, and we have all the proof we need of that being true for an arrow survivor. If we don't take the opportunity to test this now, we never will. It's not like there'll be consequences if he dies. We'll just pick the Transplants off his body at the oasis," he reasoned.

Whit's efforts to move his arms were met with rusted metal biting into his wrists. His slight struggle to move his legs came with the same result.

"Lord Dio will _not_ be pleased with you accidentally killing his double," Enyaba warned.

 _No._

The surgeon scoffed. "Haven't you been paying attention, Granny? Dio told _me_ to do as I liked, so I chose to further our research. That, and this guy isn't—"

The dark-haired man's conversation was drowned out by Whit's own screams as something sharp dug into his throat. Everything went white.

 _Hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt_

 _Stop stop stop stop stop stop stop_

 _Please please please please please please please_

Whit could only summon enough focus to think or shriek these words; he wasn't sure which. He couldn't see anything in front of him. Every second felt like a day; every minute felt like a week. Each incision of the scalpel or nudge of the probe was more painful than the last. His skin felt like it was burning and freezing simultaneously. He felt shockwaves like lightning strikes course through his muscles over and over again. His bones felt as though they were continuously cracking under pressure and expanding to burst from his skin.

His Stand, the wraith that flickered over him—that taunted him with its existence—only watched as this horrific display came to pass. Whit felt he was dreaming as he saw Last Surprise flicker into view several times. The red automaton almost seemed to fuse with his own Stand before separating its spiritual form once more.

Every heartbeat was a curse. Every breath felt like guzzling acid. Every movement of his body pressed him tighter into the clutches of an unseen iron maiden. Every blink felt like staring straight into the sun.

For the first time in his life, Whit wanted to die.

* * *

The blond man awoke to darkness. He couldn't move. He couldn't hear. He couldn't think.

As he took a preliminary breath, his throat filled with soil. With a choking cough, the blond swiped at the dusty substance. Finding no purchase by digging forward, the man turned as much as he was able in the thick dirt and dug behind him. After what felt longer than necessary, the man's hand finally grasped the warmth of the open air. With several hacking coughs and wheezes, he pulled himself out of the grassy land enveloping him. The blond gratefully gulped down the arid atmosphere and carefully assessed his surroundings. Despite the hydrated soil he had dug through, he found himself in the middle of the desert.

 _Where…am I…?_ he wondered groggily as his eyes scanned over the oasis where he had been buried. Four thick palm trees reached for the skies like wooden fingers at each corner of the round pool of crystal-clear water, which sparkled in the morning sun. As the blond rose, the locale seemingly undulated through his vision, as if his sight were merely trapped in some drought-borne mirage. He stepped toward the spring amidst the soft grass and observed his reflection.

A chiseled face with red eyes and a sharp smirk stared back at him.

The blond recoiled from the water with a hand on his chest. After taking a few steadying breaths, he looked back into the pool to see that his eyes were still green, his teeth still square. He sighed as he knelt down at the water's edge. With that sigh, the man realized just how raw his throat was. The blond cupped his hands in the water and drank from the spring before using another handful of liquid to wash his face of the dirt that he was all-too-aware covered it. However, even with the intake of water, the blond noticed his breathing was slightly impaired.

After a moment of silent contemplation, the blond stood and examined the oasis in more detail. He approached a trio of shrubs surrounding one of the bordering palm trees and noticed something faintly glowing within. A dusty pendant shaped and colored like a raindrop sat half-buried in the soil under the bush. Its thin chain had been coiled around it, as if to hide the glimmer of the accessory. With a curious noise, the blond attempted to remove the object from its grassy tomb. As soon as he did, the beautiful oasis surrounding him vanished. The man turned to assess the area. His eyes widened at what he saw.

All that remained in its place was a decrepit, bloodstained wasteland that the man could only describe as graveyard. Where the spring once lay placidly, a dusty ditch stood in its place. A crowd of decayed and decaying body parts stuck out of the hole in the ground, as if a group of devotees to some heavenly force were reaching for the heavens themselves for guidance. As if to spite this wish, several flies buzzed about every stray body part left uncovered in the sand. What had once been the palm trees and bushes were now strange, ornate structures covered in illegible runes and dust kicked up by the arid winds. The smell of rotting flesh and sand burned the man's nostrils with every breath. With a cough, he buried the watery bauble further into its original spot. This action immediately reverted the location back into the oasis in which the blond had awoken.

 _A Stand Transplant…_ the man thought, _was able to change reality and exist over all of_ this _? Wait…Stand Transplant…Stand…Stand—!_

The blond clutched his head as a needle of pain shot through his skull. The burning sensation crawled from the base of his cranium to his throat and his left foot. They felt like they were on fire.

The man grasped at the collar around his neck, but trying to remove the accessory only resulted in more agony. With a growl, he looked to his feet, dropped to the ground, and removed his left shoe. A toe ring with a smoky gemstone glimmered back at him. The invasive accessory was only accented by the inflamed skin surrounding it.

The blond scrambled over to the oasis and yanked himself into the water. His burning sensation cooled somewhat, but that only offered a moment of relief before the man's skull throbbed. He clutched at his head and gurgled violently as memories that didn't belong to him flooded his mind without warning. The man felt two distinct presences loom in his consciousness and prevail over any independent thought of his own.

* * *

If there were one word to describe Barbra in this moment, it was _anxious_. The cool, drizzling showers of the spring morning in Independence, Missouri, pattered lightly on the windows. Barbra didn't fancy herself a nervous person, not on most occasions, but she couldn't help herself.

She'd spent the countless hours of preparatory classes that barely taught her anything she couldn't figure out on her own. She'd examined every legal document the foster care services had to throw at her. She'd done her waiting since she began, for several months, almost banking on two years. She'd ticked every box she was required to mark before she could legally take care of an adolescent that needed a home in her cozy, two-bedroom abode. Even so, as the woman pored over the documents concerning one Hanako Garner, she was nail-bitingly nervous about her first ward as a foster-to-adopt parent. Her leg bounced uncertainly against the low wooden coffee table in front of her as she looked over the child's report for the umpteenth time.

The report she had received the day before outlined the sixteen-year-old's medical record, history, and chronicled behavior. According to the documents, Hanako had been in a brutal car crash with her parents before she was seven years old. The girl had been the only survivor and was promptly placed in a foster home as a result. She'd been passed from foster home to foster home ever since.

Despite this devastating past, the more personal reports Barbra had read from other accommodations had not listed the now-teenaged orphan as 'unfortunate' or 'innocent' or even 'sympathetic'—quite the opposite, in fact. One document reported that she had picked several fights with two younger boys, who had repeatedly mispronounced her name, while another stated that, after a trio of older sisters had told her that they wouldn't change the channel, Hanako had thrown a dictionary at the family's television so hard that the screen burst open. Another still explained that even without foster siblings to tussle with, Hanako still got into fights with schoolchildren who called her names on their way home from school. None of the documents could seem to agree on what her problem was.

However, every paper _did_ agree on medicating the girl if the parent wanted her to even be remotely manageable. Judging by more recent reports, with her violent outbursts occurring less and less, Hanako had seemingly calmed down in recent years, so much so that she'd been weaned off her constant medications. She still dealt with some bouts of aggressive behavior, but those seemed to be fewer and farther between than the precedent set by her preteen years.

 _I can deal with unruly behavior,_ Barbra asserted inwardly as she glanced up at one of the pictures she kept on the mantle. The man depicted within wore a police uniform that fit loosely over his stocky body, and he leaned against the wall of a police station with his arms folded. Even with his official hat nearly covering his eyes, the man smirked at the camera with a mischievous glint in his brown irises, as if he were in on some elaborate joke with the person behind the camera. Barbra returned the smirk as she looked at the plaster ceiling. _I put up with you, didn't I?_ she mused wistfully.

The woman chuckled to herself. After placing the document she'd been analyzing back on the table, she sat back with a sigh and closed her tired, dark eyes. Barbra drew a hand through her long, black locks as she stretched her sore neck. _I wonder if she's been acting out because no one's been as good to her as her parents…_ she wondered. _Could I even match up? Will she even like me? What happens then?_

Barbra shook her head. _No, no, I've got to think positive. No matter what, I'm gonna treat this girl special. Like she's my own daughter,_ thought the woman as her eyes panned to the room directly across from her own down the hall. She still couldn't wipe the image of the now-cozily-prepared room's previously extravagant state. Pink and blue banners hanging across the walls, a crib full of cuddly dolls and stuffed animals, and a rocking chair with delightful carvings set up next to the mobile cradle—things that only existed to collect dust, Barbra noted retrospectively. After preparing the room for her new ward, the only remnant of that infantile explosion of color and dreams was the lush garden painted across the wall, depicting forests and meadows straight out of a fairy tale.

The woman was startled from her thoughts as she heard a sharp knock at the door. After straightening the documents out, Barbra stood and edged past the couch to the front door. She paused to straighten her hair in the entryway's mirror before taking a steadying breath. Then, she opened the door.

On the other side were a man and a woman, who were presumably married. Barbra had a delayed realization that rain had stopped, as the couple didn't have an umbrella with them. They scanned the exterior of the small house and what could be seen of the interior before the husband remarked, "Nice…place you've got here."

Barbra's lip twitched before she slipped into the persona she used for these kinds of people and greeted, "Hi! I'm Barbra! Is a Miss Hanako Garner with you?"

"Yeah, hold on," the disinterested wife requested before turning toward their Porsche in the driveway and shouted, "Hannah, hurry it up!"

"I'm comin'. Jeez," Hanako muttered as she hoisted her belongings in trash bags over her shoulders.

The brunette teenager stepped up to the door without dropping the heavy-looking sacks. Despite her violent history, the only scars on her face were incredibly faded. Her face was sullen, but her deep-blue eyes carried a form of adventure and mystique.

Hanako bowed as much as she could without letting go of her belongings. "I'm Hanako Garner. It's nice to meet you," she introduced glumly. As if in response to her user's introduction, a dark-cloaked spirit manifested at Hanako's side. Barbra's eyebrows rose as she beheld the ghostly figure.

The brown shawl the ghost wore shrouded its face in darkness, aside from a mischievously grinning mouth. Some sort of filmy substance slunk down the wraith's back like an amorphous creature with dozens upon dozens of legs. The spirit mimicked its user's bow with a cheerful trilling noise. The married couple seemed completely unaware of the creature's appearance, but the hooded haunter was clear as day to Barbra through the sunlight piercing the calmed clouds.

Barbra chuckled lightly as she returned Hanako's introductory bow. "I'm Barbra Streisand. Make yourself at home, Hanako," she welcomed while stepping to the side of the doorway.

Even if the only indication of her shift in mood was a slight twitch of her lips into a momentary grin, Hanako's demeanor changed as she stepped across the threshold into what would be her new home.

 _I was fretting over nothing._

* * *

As the smell of gas reached her nostrils before the stove flamed to life, Lyn's thoughts wandered back to the glowing, chartreuse rock in her office. _It doesn't affect me directly… Do I need to take more drastic measures in researching it?_ she wondered as goosebumps prickled across her skin. _I feel like I'm so_ close _to getting answers about it, but—_

"Mommy, Mommy!" a cheerful voice called from the top of the stairway. Lyn briefly looked away from her mix of veggies and ham cooking atop the stove to see her daughter clothed in a bulky hazmat suit carefully descending the stairs with a curious device that glowed cyan in her hand. When she reached Lyn, the youth removed her helmet and beamed up at her mother. "Mommy, I think I came up with a new kind of bomb!"

"That's great, sweetie! What's it do?" Lyn wondered as she lowered the heat under the pan. The redhead kept a hand on the handle of the utensil while she gave her daughter her attention. She couldn't help smiling at the adorable excitement plain on the pigtailed girl's face.

"Well, I always thought those tasers I see in TV shows would be more useful if you didn't have to worry about the darts connecting! So, I decided to make this: the Electrobomb! When it explodes, it releases a cloud of sparks that'll stun anyone within a meter or two of it!" the girl boasted.

"…And how did you figure that out?" the redhead asked with a raised eyebrow.

"W-Well, uh," the girl stuttered as she twirled one of her blond pigtails with her free hand, "I accidentally performed a test run too close…" Noticing the stern look her mother was giving her, the girl added, "B-But I was wearing this special suit, so it didn't hurt! I researched the voltage and current of the electricity that travels from a taser to the criminal, and I set the parameters to that!"

"Now, sweetheart, what did I say before about testing explosives?" Lyn posited as she crouched to her daughter's level.

"I'm not to test any incendiary devices without your supervision," the pigtailed girl rattled off with a guilty expression. She handed the device to her mother, who placed it on the kitchen table. "Sorry, Mommy…" the girl apologized.

Lyn smiled at her daughter. "That's very good, Shiho," she praised. Shiho still looked guilty about not following her mother's directions. After taking her hand off the pan, Lyn lifted her four-year-old daughter into her arms and spun her around. Shiho squealed in surprise as the redhead admired, "That won't stop me from being proud of my special girl! You're so smart, lookit you!" The pigtailed girl laughed gleefully as Lyn held her close. "My little squirrelly-girly," the mother cooed as she kissed the top of Shiho's head.

"Heheh, it's just a prototype. The finished product will be _much_ more potent! It might even work as a tool for reconnaissance missions!" the pleased girl giggled before her nose caught the smell of the food on the stove. "That smells good," she mused as she hungrily eyed the blend in the pan. "What are you making?"

"If I told you, it would ruin the surprise," Lyn teased with a wry smile.

"Fine, then I'll just guess what it is!" Shiho argued before sniffing vigorously at the air. "Mushrooms, peas, rice, tomatoes… _ham_ …Is it stir-fry?"

"Keep guessing," the redhead lilted as she turned back to her cooking.

"You're underestimating the limited palate of a kid!" the pigtailed girl retorted. "I don't have to make _that_ many guesses!"

"I could just as easily surprise you and your brother with something you haven't tried before," Lyn rebuked.

"But why _would_ you?"

"Well, to _expand_ said limited palate. You are a growing girl, after all."

Shiho fumed quietly as her mother moved the mix of veggies and meat into a bowl and poured an eggy mixture she had prepared into a clean frying pan. The girl gasped, "You're making an egg stir fry!"

"Nope, keep guessing," Lyn denied with a yawn.

"Mommy, have you been getting enough sleep?" Shiho pressed with narrowed green eyes.

"Time doesn't stop for research, Shiho," the mother explained.

"What if you fall asleep at the wrong time?" the pigtailed girl worried.

"Has that ever happened before?"

Shiho tried and failed to come up with an example. Before she could further argue her concern, the child heard the front door unlock and open. "I'm home," the mother and daughter heard the father greet exhaustedly.

"Welcome back!" Shiho cheered as she rushed to the entryway.

"Whoa, there. Looks like someone's been hard at work today," the man chuckled. Lyn looked over to spot her husband—a tall, slender, suited man with soft green eyes and crisply-cut black hair with green-tea-tinted tips—walk into the kitchen with Shiho in one arm and his briefcase in the other hand.

"Welcome back, honey," Lyn greeted warmly. "You hungry?"

"Hungry? I could probably eat a cow and still want seconds," her husband declared before setting his daughter down on the tiled floor.

Shiho rushed to the kitchen table and picked up her newest creation. "Lookit what I made, Daddy!" she enthused as she presented the luminescent object to her father.

"Oh, wow," the man admired as he observed the gizmo from several angles. "That's quite a thingamabob," he commended. He scratched his head as Shiho's expression fell slightly. "Sorry, Shiho, I'm not as well-versed in this kind of thing as your mother. But, I'm still very proud of you," he praised while ruffling the girl's hair. "She must've been proud of how smart you are."

"She was!" informed Shiho, returning to her usual cheeriness.

"I don't doubt it," her father agreed as he glanced to his wife, who smiled at him. He rose to his feet and stretched his back. An audible pop reached the mother's and daughter's ears. "Man, the paperwork has been _killer_ lately," he groaned while rubbing his back.

"Shiho, why don't you put your bomb away and go downstairs to get your brother for dinner?" Lyn suggested while pouring the blend of veggies and meat into the solidifying eggy mixture.

"Okay!" the girl accepted before carefully maneuvering up the stairs. A few minutes later, she came bounding down the steps in a red shirt and khaki jumper. The basement door creaked open and shut a few moments after she galloped into the living room.

"Paperwork, huh?" the redhead wondered as her husband came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her midsection.

"The evidence has gotta be submitted somehow," the man sighed as he rested his head on her shoulder. "It's not unmanageable, but it's just a bit more work than I'm used to."

"Well, you _are_ defending someone who's been accused of being a serial killer," Lyn reasoned as she placed a hand over his.

"Yeah, not to mention the prosecution's giving me next to no breathing room," he chuckled. "My client's innocent, though. I'm sure of it."

"I know you are, Yuuto," the redhead agreed as she rubbed her thumb over the rings accessorizing his right hand.

"I've got a workaround, but I'm not sure if it'll work as well as I'm thinking," Yuuto confessed.

"You'll be fine," Lyn assured as she turned to look at her beloved. "You always are."

Yuuto gave a lazy smile. "Where would I be without you?" he wondered softly.

"Hey, hey, there's no need to think about that," the redhead comforted. "I'm not going anywhere."

The man kissed his wife's neck with a parting hug before stepping to her side. "What's for dinner? It smells good," Yuuto mused as he examined the meal the redhead was placing.

"Well, it's—"

"Ack! _Sis_!" a panicked voice cried from the living room.

Lyn and Yuuto exchanged a concerned glance before they heard the basement door open and shut. Shiho came skipping into the kitchen with a naughty grin. "I told him dinner's ready!" she reported.

Soon after, the basement door opened and closed once more. A blond boy with his father's eyes in overalls paired with a navy shirt and a lab coat shuffled into the kitchen while rubbing his eye. "Sis, did you _have_ to shine the flashlight in my face?" he muttered.

"Well, I kept calling you and calling you, but you never looked up from that drink you were making!" his twin sister shot back. "And you've gotten on my case before about how some of your solutions are sensitive to light, so I couldn't just flick on the lights!"

"I could have thrown what I was making at you!" the brother argued as he stamped his foot. "I thought you were some kind of demon! Your face would be half-burned by acid if I hadn't stopped myself!"

"Come on, kiddos, there's no need to yell," Yuuto soothed.

"I wouldn't have had to get up close if you had taken your head out of your work for five seconds!" Shiho retorted as she got up in her brother's face.

"D-Don't act like you don't do the same thing," the boy rebutted weakly.

"You're just saying that! I don't—!"

"Shiho, Shoji, stop it, both of you!" Lyn raised her voice. Her two children immediately stopped arguing and looked back to their mother. Shoji shrunk in on himself while Shiho folded her arms with a huff. The redhead sighed before crouching to the youths' level. "Shiho," she began while looking to her daughter, "you should know better than to be so careless. I don't understand the specifics of chemistry as well as he does, but you need to be sensitive to its safety hazards just as you would for your tech. Okay?" Shiho nodded guiltily. "And, Shoji," she continued as she looked to her son, "you need to be more aware of your surroundings. I'm all for getting wrapped up in research, but the world's gonna pass you by out there before you know it. Just try and pay attention to other things besides what happens in the lab, okay?"

Shoji swallowed. "Yes, Mother," he replied.

"Good. Now, both of you apologize to each other. Neither of you needed to shout at the other," Lyn scolded gently.

A pregnant moment passed before Shiho turned to her twin brother. "Sorry about scaring you like that," she admitted.

"I-It's okay. I was just…worried about you getting hurt," Shoji replied. "I'm sorry I implied that you were an inattentive demon."

"Why are you acting like being a demon would be a bad thing?" Shiho retorted with a smile. "Haven't you read _Devilman_?"

"Of course I have!" Shoji shot back. "Whether you're good or bad, you'd be in more danger as a demon than a human!"

"Now, now, kids, why don't we continue this conversation over dinner?" Yuuto suggested while gesturing to the food Lyn was plating.

"Oh, yeah! You never told me what it was!" Shiho recalled.

"It's omurice, obviously," Shoji stated matter-of-factly.

"Whaaaaaa?! How can you tell?!" Shiho cried while nearly losing her balance from the shock of the blunt answer.

"It's simple. The clock says it's 18:17. I vaguely recall hearing Mother remove pots and pans from the cupboard at around 17:50. The only dish that I can think of that takes that little time to prepare, while also being a dish that Father, you, and I all like, is omurice," the brother analyzed.

"Man, I should have you on the bench with me, li'l badger! I could use a critical thinker like you!" Yuuto praised as he ruffled his son's hair. The boy bowed his head in an attempt to hide his blush.

"Come on, you three. The food's gonna get cold at this rate," Lyn warned. "Wash up, sit down, and dig in."

"Yes, ma'am!" the three enthused before moving to the sink.

As Lyn watched Yuuto lift Shiho to the faucet's mouth to wash her hands while Shoji waited patiently beside them, she couldn't stop a flower of warmth from blooming in her chest.

* * *

"Hey, welcome home," Hanako greeted with a loud yawn and a wave from the kitchen entrance.

"I've been back for two hours," the woman lilted. She laughed softly as she recalled her adoptive daughter's snoring form sprawled across the living room floor in front of the couch. Hanako had been shivering slightly, but Barbra hadn't wanted to disturb the teenager's sleep, so the black-haired woman had settled for covering the brunette with a baby-blue blanket from her room and placing a pillow under her head. "Dinner can be heated up, but this can't. Sit, sit!" Barbra enthused.

Hanako grumbled as her adoptive mother pushed her towards the kitchen table. The nineteen-year-old brunette flopped into the closest seat with a sigh. Ace of Wands—Barbra assumed that was the creature's name from what she had inadvertently heard Hanako mutter before bed—materialized beside her user while trilling softly in confusion with her head cocked to the side. Barbra snickered quietly as the fickle creature apparently grew bored of this series of events and floated over to the tiny, bunny-eared television on the kitchen counter. The spirit flipped through the channels; this was an activity the woman could categorize as white noise by this point.

"Here's something for graduating!" Barbra's voice dragged Hanako's meandering attention back to the present. The adoptive mother couldn't help chuckling at the teenager's theatrical groan at the sight of the dessert in the woman's hands.

Barbra didn't fancy herself an expert baker, but she was proud of this creation: a fluffy chocolate cake blanketed in a sheet of white frosting as fresh as winter's first snow with big, fancy, red letters scribbled across the top in cursive that read, "Congrats on Graduating, Hanako!"

"It's not my birthday," Hanako groused with a fold of her arms. The droning of a local news station filled the kitchen as Ace of Wands apparently settled on a channel.

Barbra brushed some of her hair from her face after she set the cake down. She rolled her eyes with a smile as she shot back, "And I'm allowed to bake for occasions other than birthdays, young lady. Enjoy it; it's a celebration!" Her eyebrows shot up as she seemed to realize something. "Oh, almost forgot!" she exclaimed before scurrying back to the counter and returning with a handful of candles and a cheap, gas-station lighter. "There's even candles," the mother sang while she placed the seven waxy twigs in the cake with no rhyme or reason to their arrangement. With a smirk, she lit the candles and dimmed the kitchen's lights.

Expecting a grumble of surrender, Barbra was pleasantly surprised that her adoptive daughter only settled for a roll of her eyes before blowing out the candles. The smoke from the extinguished embers swarmed the youth's face for a moment. Barbra could have sworn she saw a flash of anxiety across her daughter's visage before it was gone.

The adoptive mother's mind flickered in slight panic as she debated asking if anything was wrong or changing the subject. "And now we eat," Barbra decided while stomaching her fluster to quickly cut them each a slice of cake. After handing Hanako her slice of the soft dessert, the woman took a seat at the other end of the small table. As if the shift in expression had never happened, the teenage brunette nodded sharply before digging into the dessert. Despite herself, the woman couldn't suppress a surge of pride from the delighted hum of her daughter after she bit into the cake.

 _She still hasn't talked about her little friend,_ Barbra mused as she absentmindedly watched the cloaked figure, who was clearly fascinated by the small television. _From what I've seen, though, this kind of thing is pretty rare. She might not be comfortable talking about it._ The woman tore her eyes from the spirit to stare at her cake as Hanako looked up with a soft smile. _I'll wait til' she's ready,_ she promised herself as she rifled through her purse and removed a small package, which she'd procured from the airport the previous day. Barbra sighed quietly before sliding the flat box across the table to her daughter.

As the container bumped against her paper plate, Hanako was brought out of whatever daydream she had been having to stare curiously at the package. "What's that?" the teen wondered while slowly placing another bite in her mouth.

"If you'd open it," Barbra chuckled with a shake of her head. She kept her eyes on the window over the kitchen sink as she continued, "but, I'll tell you. A roundtrip to Egypt; you've been wanting to go for a while now, right?" _Heaven knows why…_

"I," Hanako tried to find the right words. She furrowed her brow in contemplation—something so cute Barbra would normally squeal about it; that is if Hanako didn't take being called "cute" as a declaration of war—before smiling softly and starting anew, "That new job must be nice, huh? Able to afford plane tickets like that?" After finishing her bite of cake, Hanako laughed a bit, likely in an attempt to lighten the mood. Barbra appreciated the attempt, but her insurmountable concern couldn't be conquered so easily. The brunette teenager cleared her throat somewhat awkwardly before expressing genuinely, "Thank you…so much, Barb."

"You're welcome," Barbra replied noncommittally. For a moment, she lost her composure and stood suddenly from the table; the motion startled the excitement from her daughter's face in favor of surprise. "You…You have to promise me one thing, though," she strained. "You have to be _extra_ careful, understand?"

"Wh-Where'd this come from?" the brunette asked with a confused look.

"I," Barbra sighed. "I don't know, just…" _"I don't know why you've been so centered on going somewhere so obscure"? "Do you know someone from there?" "Why did you want to go by yourself?" "What's waiting for you in Cairo, Egypt, of all places?"_ After a long moment of thought, the woman sighed again and reasoned, "I'm your mother. Am I not allowed to worry about you like this?"

"I'm nineteen, Barb. I think I can handle myself just fine," Hanako reassured with a slightly cocky smirk. "Don't worry so much."

"Age doesn't matter when you're a mom," she argued. Barbra reached across the table and firmly gripped her daughter's free hand. "A mother _always_ worries."

Hanako seemed to flinch slightly at the sudden contact. After a moment, she relaxed and slowly turned her hand to squeeze her adoptive mother's fingers. The brunette finally sighed and conceded, "I'll be careful. I promise."

* * *

Lyn lethargically picked through her scattered explosive components on her room's dusty, stone floor. She involuntarily squeezed her arms and shuddered as a chill fell over her skin. The woman sighed and brought a few of the candles closer before picking up a piece she had originally deemed inoperable. After gently flicking her fingers against it a few times, the part came to life in her hand. Even through the red tint of her goggles, the woman could distinctly recognize its soft, cyan glow.

The redhead bit back a sob as she dropped the component onto the ground. Lyn held her hands over her chest and bowed her head as she choked quietly on the tears she couldn't shed. _I have to do this…for them,_ she reaffirmed. _I have_ _to. I_ have _to._

The sobbing demolitionist noticed the scuffing sound of skin against stone behind her and immediately straightened up. "W-Was there something you...needed, milord?" she offered as she glanced to her room's door, which had remained closed.

"Miss Aizumi?" The redhead loosened only slightly as soon as she heard the questioning tone of Brando behind her. She heard the blond step closer. His steps were infrequent and calculated, based on sound, as if he were actively aware of the delicacy of her craft and wished not to disturb the modules peppering the cold, hard surface.

 _Definitely not Dio, then,_ she thought. "What are...you doing here?" she wondered. "Aren't you supposed to be...running drills with Lord Dio right now?"

"That is meant to be my current obligation; however, I requested my own dismission under the pretense of analyzing your progress into Stand Transplant research. Naturally, such a task fell into Lord Dio's desires, and, as such, he allowed my brief leave," Brando explained.

 _I feel like I'm gonna puke,_ Lyn groaned inwardly.

"Despite my own lack of participation in the rituals referred to as 'breakfast,' 'lunch,' and 'dinner,' I observed that your countenance had neglected to materialize at any of these gatherings on the fifteenth of October, which was yesterday," the blond observed as he finally came into the redhead's view. He held an apple in each of his hands. "Based on my analysis of the human constitution, I deduced that a woman of your age and stature would likely be starving at this coordinate in time," he concluded while offering the red fruits to Lyn.

The redhead made a nervous laughing noise in the back of her throat. "N-No, thanks," she denied as she raised her hands defensively, "I'm...actually not—" A spiteful growl rumbled from the woman's stomach before she could finish her sentence. "F-Fine...give 'em here," Lyn conceded with a sigh.

Brando crouched next to the kneeling redhead and scanned the tumultuous state of the room's floor. "Is it truly possible for humans to become so encompassed in their analyses that they would fail to recall the standards of nourishment of their physiques?" he wondered aloud.

"It's not _that…_ unusual," Lyn yawned as she bit into one of the apples. Despite her earlier stubbornness, she couldn't help but smile at the sweet, slightly tangy taste of the familiar fruit. "I haven't really...done that since I got here, though...now that I think about it. I guess I'm just…" she trailed off. She wasn't certain of how she wanted to end that sentence, if at all.

The quizzical blond man briefly glanced from side to side, as if checking the room for any listening ears, before whispering, "Do you possess trauma? Or memories of other phenomena that you wish to reconcile?" Lyn gave him a confused expression as he continued, "I do not contract that I will be completely able to understand all by which you may be plagued; however, if the concept of speaking about these with Lord Dio does not comfort you, perhaps out of timidity, mayhaps you would deign to confide in my person? I would only request that you assure your confession to Lord Dio, in order for my confidentiality to remain viable."

 _Is he…actually worried about me?_ Lyn wondered as she set down the core of the first apple. She glanced into Brando's eyes, which glinted with a childish innocence in the low light. _Is something created by Dio…actually capable of compassion?_

With a small sigh, the redhead moved the other apple to her free hand, which was sticky with the previous apple's juices. Then, she reached over and grasped Brando's hand with a small smile. "I…appreciate the gesture, Brando," she responded drowsily. "I don't…really feel like talking about it… Not right now. But, maybe someday…"

The young blond seemed at a loss at what he should do in this situation. He settled for shaking Lyn's hand with a modest smile and a nod of his head. Despite her earlier misgivings and the chill of Brando's fingers, the redhead felt a flicker of warmth light her previously dulled body.

 _Maybe…I can give him a second chance._

* * *

Barbra glanced out at the stars blinking in the night sky of the early Missouri summer before returning her gaze to the quiet streets ahead. She breathed a sigh as she let the rock songs from her Buick's radio drone in the background. Her car rolled to a stop when she reached a bright red stoplight before the last turn she needed to take to return to her neighborhood.

Her fingers drummed the steering wheel as she glanced to the sleepy-looking driver in the other car at the intersection. _God, I'm a wreck,_ she mused with a restrained laugh. _I left her at the airport, what, thirty minutes ago? I shouldn't be so worried… I'll call Hanako when she gets to the hotel. I could also use Letters That Cross In The Mail now..._

Barbra briefly cleared her mind and mentally reached out to the small white envelope she had slipped onto Hanako in their farewell hug. From the looks of it, the traveling brunette was boarding her flight as the voice over the intercom allowed "passengers with last names A through M" to board. The weary teenager seemed to struggle with her luggage before hoisting the bag over her shoulder and trudging into the walkway. Barbra chuckled lightly at the sight.

 _She'll make it._

The light turned green. Barbra accelerated. The car on her right revved and zoomed forward. She didn't have time to react before her vehicle was violently tossed aside by the impact.

When the woman opened one eye, all she could see was flames. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't open her right eye. Her whole body was sweating. Blood trickled down her face. She felt embers burn on her skin. Barbra couldn't shake the dizziness from her head. She realized she was hanging upside down in the driver's seat—no, the entire vehicle had been overturned by the crash.

Forcing her hands to stop shaking, even with the screeching pain of glass and shrapnel in her arms and legs, she wrenched herself out of the automobile's blazing grip. Slowly but surely, Barbra pulled herself from the wreckage. It was only as she moved that she realized she couldn't feel one of her legs, nor could she rid her mouth of the dusty taste of smoke or the metallic tang of blood. With blackened air clouding her lungs, Barbra managed to finally claw her way out of the car. She exhaustedly crawled from the burning remains of the vehicle and turned back to examine the dented car that had attacked hers. The faded red vehicle bathed in the flames of Barbra's Buick. The woman swore she saw a silhouette projected against the smoldering background before she heard the sound of footsteps approaching her.

 _What the hell was that guy thinking?_ she wondered with a cough. When the footsteps stopped, Barbra looked up to see a strange, ash-covered, blond man standing over her. His green eyes glowed unsympathetically in the firelight. "Hey…" she groaned weakly. She realized all at once that her entire blood-stained, burned body felt like it was on the verge of collapse. "Call an ambulance…Please…" she begged. The green-eyed man didn't respond.

Barbra noticed the reflection of flames on a metal surface before she perceived the knife in the blond's hand. _What—_

The man covered her mouth and thrust the weapon into her heart.

* * *

"You're sure you haven't heard anything new?" Lyn was roused from her light slumber by the sound of a rough, effeminate, German voice speaking further down the hall.

"If he'd gotten any new intel, if Lord Dio wasn't the first to know, then he'd tell me! I'm not quite sure _why_ he defaults to me, but he does," a smaller voice rasped in response. Lyn recognized the voice as that of Nukesaku, the slow-thinking, two-faced vampire with an inferiority complex. The sound of four sets of approaching footsteps nearly drowned out the faraway voices as Nukesaku continued, "I heard he got on a plane straight out of Egypt just a couple days ago. Seems he was taggin' along on a flight with that dumb girl and the monkey."

"Does that mean he no longer sees a need to report on the actions of those traitorous café-frequenters?" the German-accented voice interrogated.

"Well, with most of the dangerous ones either captured or out of commission, following after them any more would just be redundant," the two-faced vampire hissed.

 _Traitorous café-frequenters…_ Lyn mused. _Was there… Was there a traitor among our numbers?_

"That is no excuse!" the woman shouted. "That _Fickfehler_ should know that Lord Dio's desires remain absolute! If he wishes to stop gathering intel, he may only stop if Lord Dio orders it! He cannot just go frolicking through tulips without the lord's say-so!"

"J-Josie, please," Nukesaku coaxed as the footsteps grew ever closer.

The marching almost synchronized with Lyn's heartbeat as she strained to hear what this "Josie" had to say. " _Nein_!" Josie roared in refusal. "If I were not expressly forbidden from leaving this complex, I would follow that 'Mr. Brent Wilson' and wring his neck from his shoulders!"

Lyn stopped breathing. Everything seemed to stop in time as the weight of this revelation hit her.

 _Brent…? Brent is… Brent Wilson is the… Brent Wilson, "_ Willy, _" the bumbling part-timer… Brent Wilson, the user of Death of a Bachelor… the man who hides a sly nature and calculating observation skills behind a womanizing, incompetent exterior… the compulsive_ liar _… the man who never once showed his full hand…_

" _Goddammit_!" Lyn bellowed.

The woman's curse woke Whit from his vivid nightmare, as he turned slightly to look at her. Lyn felt her face twist in agony. Her fingernails bit into her palms. She gnawed her lip so hard that blood coursed down her chin.

 _I'm so stupid. I'm so_ goddamn _stupid. I should've known. I should've been able to tell. I was too trusting. I was too naïve. I paid attention to every little thing. I did everything I could to stop this. But—_

Upon hearing a questioning noise from Whit, Lyn turned to the blond with anguish painting her features. "Brando, I just heard some of Dio's lackeys talking and," she swallowed. Her throat felt blocked, as if even her own body was trying to keep her from spreading something so horrible. With a breath, she managed to utter, "it's…it's Brent. He's—"

 _A traitor._

* * *

The blond man opened his eyes to the darkened night sky of the desert. The man hadn't recognized when he'd pulled himself from the water, but judging by how dry his rags were, that couldn't have been too recently.

He only regained awareness for a brief moment before memories swarmed his mind again like bees crowding a new flower to pollinate.

Every rapid breath felt like it dragged slow against his hoarse throat. Every successive heartbeat smashed against his ribs faster and faster. His mind swam through tar; he couldn't form a coherent thought in the mess of recollections that didn't belong to him. He couldn't feel his arms or legs as he shuddered through a sharp chill that blanketed his body in freezing sweat.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. All he could do was fear.

 _Please…_ he begged as every kind of stabilizing thought forced him down further into the drowning ocean of echoes of late life. _Please…someone…_ anyone… _he…lp…m…e…_

"Such a beautiful, reassuring, _strong_ composition…"

The blond man heard his own voice peek through the muddle. He couldn't help reaching for this insignificant pinprick of life that had offered him a gentle hand of conscious thought.

"If I ever happen upon a time where I cannot control my overwrought condition…"

 _This is…_ the blond recalled slowly. _I…I…_

"I shall…remember you through this piece."

"I remember."

As the serene tones of the piano flowed into the blond's consciousness, the light that had once been negligible slowly broke through the darkened sea of murky thoughts and unresolved emotions. The graceful vocals of the creator of the piece seemed to echo with the rhythmic glow of the light as it beat back the memories encapsulating the blond man.

As the artist sang the chorus, Whit finally managed to reach through the psychological tar binding his body. He reached for the light shining above before the collective threatened to bury him again. At that moment, the darkness was banished completely by the final chorus that belted out. It was being sung, no longer by the voice of the singer he had heard on the radio, but by the gentle chords of Lyn Aizumi.

"L—" Whit started as he reached for the light. "Lyn!"

The warm glow seemed to beckon him closer before it flashed white. Whit instinctively closed his eyes in response. When he next opened them, he was lying back in the sand of the oasis he had found. He placed his hand over his chest as he carefully steadied his breathing. After a moment, he sat up.

 _R-Right,_ he realized. _I am…Whit Houston._

As if in response to his revelation, a fresh gust of wind rustled the shrubs and palm trees of the oasis. Whit took a moment to breathe in the sandy breeze that danced jovially across his face. The blond man stood slowly. He staggered slightly, but he was finally standing. Whit took a moment to stare down at the glinting quartz gem in the ring on his toe.

 _Barbra Streisand…_ Whit mused. _You were kind and wished for nothing more than the joy and health of Hanako Garner. I will…ensure the safety of your daughter._

With a deep breath, the thoughtful blond stepped back up to the pond. He carefully examined the reflection of the red gemstone, which winked at him as if in response to his analytical eyes.

 _Lyn…Aizumi…_ Whit thought. _You…You manipulated me. I know this. And yet, you carried compassion for a soul that did not require it for sustenance. You carried compassion for any unfortunate individual that crossed your path. I will…_

Whit took a moment to parse his thoughts. With a deep breath in his lungs and a soft song on his lips, he gently reached into the mess of memories that had clouded his mind moments ago. Most of them belonged to Lyn. Whit could only guess that was due to the proximity of the Stand Transplants to his brainstem. He was surprised to find some of the visions Lyn had received in the explosion that stole her sight among her own recollections. However, most of the memories of her predictions were spotty at best.

The memories of Lyn and Barbra did not form two coherent films; rather, they formed several snapshots creating a scrapbook of each woman's life: their achievements, their lowest points, and their loved ones. Not every memory was there; Whit could only make a guess among a variety of possible reasons why.

 _The knowledge of Stand Transplant surgery…the vision of Suki in the future…the memory of Miss Garner's desire to visit Egypt…they are all here,_ Whit listed. _However, I would be assisted if I could just…_

"Miss Surprise…" Whit breathed. On command, the rose-colored automaton formed from the collar hugging the blond's neck. Last Surprise blipped joyfully at the sight of Whit before scanning its surroundings. The lights on its face flickered as it turned back to the blond. "Miss Surprise, your user is…" The red robot held a clawed hand up to silence its user's friend. Last Surprise nodded in understanding with a wistful bleep.

"Letters That Cross In The Mail…" the blond summoned. A small, white envelope formed in his open hand. From every angle, this seemed to be an ordinary envelope.

 _Controlling them feels…off,_ Whit mused. _However, I must learn. I will adapt. For their sakes, I will…_

Whit hardened his gaze as he stared down at the body of water. The image of rotting limbs and the smell of stagnating flesh flashed briefly in his mind. Then, the blond noticed something bright glint across the surface of the water. He turned to the source of the light to witness the sky slowly growing lighter in shade as the morning sun began its rise in the distance. The stars flickered out one by one as the darkness recoiled from the radiant sunlight, which freed the sandy dunes of shadows.

The damaged man bolstered his resolve as he stared toward the sun.

 _I will…_

"If you were buried here...then Dio most likely thinks you're dead," a familiar voice echoed to him. "Keep moving forward… Please, stop calamity from befalling this world—our world."

Whit took a collected breath and focused his gaze forward.

 _I will prevent calamity._

* * *

-END-

|To Be Continued|\|/

* * *

 ** _Fickfehler_ – German insult, means "someone whose birth was unplanned," literally translated as "fuck error"**

 ** _Nein_ – German word, means "no"**

 **Thank you guys so much for reading! This oneshot was definitely a lot harder to write, and not just because it ended up being a lot more consistently depressing. I think it will lead in to the content of the next mainline chapter quite well, though, so I hope you guys stay tuned for that! -BlueBow**


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